


life still danced in your eyes

by entropyangel



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Cult, Edens Gate, F/F, First Love, Forbidden Love, Idiots in Love, Love, Mutual Pining, No Lesbians Die, Rachel Jessop - Freeform, Smut, crazy shit, hudson is baby, lesbian smut, love triangle kinda?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entropyangel/pseuds/entropyangel
Summary: saw you tonight,for the first time in years,crushed and thin.
Relationships: Faith Seed/Original Female Character(s), Joey Hudson/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	1. she’s lost control again

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! these first few chapters take place right before Rachel/Faith becomes sucked into the cult shenanigans. shit will get interesting soon enough I PROMISE

𝐌𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 clumsily stumbles around the bathroom as a wet veil of tears blur her vision. She drags Rachel Jessop into the bathtub, whimpering with fear and agony as she leans over her limp body, turning on the shower. Beams of freezing cold water assault the two, but the harsh feeling does not phase Mabel. She lifts Rachel's head, pushing her further under the stream of icy water.

Her body crumples and bends in an odd way, like a loose piece of paper in the wind. Her milky skin begins to fade into a blue tint, and foam seeps from the corners of her supple pink lips. And it always stuns Mabel, how Rachel looked so angelic and serene, even in those erratic moments, where the line between life and death blurred and became indistinguishable. 

Mabel desperately slaps Rachel's cheek. Her skin is so wintry and unwelcoming. The feeling spreads through Mabel's own body, blood running cold as she briefly ponders what will happen if Rachel doesn't awaken.

"Please," she croaks, a sob ripping through her and making her entire body tremble beneath Rachel's back. She continues to smack Rachel's face. The girl eventually gasps, and begins to sputter. The solace Mabel feels is overwhelming. "Rachel.." she cries, leaning her head back against the white tiles of the bathroom wall. Her arms remain trapped around Rachel's sylphlike form.

Rachel continues to cough and sputter. Mabel shuts her eyes. The frigid water continues to rain upon them. Mabel is too worn out to turn it off. She just holds Rachel closer.

Rachel is equally as weak if not more, but leans forward slightly, turning off the shower, letting the water seize to fall. She then leans back into Mabel's arms, letting out a weak groan.

"You scared me so bad," Mabel whispers tiredly. Rachel simply maneuvers her body slightly, and leans her head against Mabels damp shoulder. She lets her eyes fall shut.

"I'm sorry," is all she can manage.

The two lie motionless for seconds, minutes, hours. They aren't counting. The time seems to blur together into a thick grey smog. "I'm cold," Rachel mumbles, slowly sitting up. Mabel nods in a silent agreement, and stands up. Rachel rises as well, and extends her hand out towards Mabel. Despite how numb her body is, her heart is swallowed by warmth.

She takes Rachel's hand, and steps out of the tub. Their fingers remain locked as they walk out of the dingy bathroom, and into the equally as somber bedroom. Rachel releases Mabels hand and collapses onto the bed. The metal bed frame wails beneath her weight. 

Mabel flops down alongside her. Rachel immediately rests her hand on Mabels back, fingers rubbing against her damp cold shirt. "You need to get clean," Mabel says quietly. Rachel feels sinful and dirty, like she needs to scrub her skin raw until there's nothing left.

"I know. I'll find a way," she whispers. Mabel simply nods, and somehow finds it in her to believe Rachel's soft spoken words.

The two sit in silence for a few moments. Mabel savors the sensation of Rachel's hand moving against her back, and the beautiful calmness of that arrived after the storm. She eventually speaks up. "I should probably go home," she says, sighing as Rachel subsequently removes her hand from her back.

"Drive safe," she says, more like orders. She's a siren, her voice so enticing and warm. It's sweet like honey and drips into every pore in Mabels being. "I will," she replies, turning over and sitting up. Rachel does the same.

Their bloodshot eyes lock. Rachel is disheveled and broken, but still so painfully graceful and heavenly. Mabel lets her gaze linger, wanting to absorb every nuance that the other girl has to offer. "You're staring," Rachel mutters, smiling faintly as a red hue stains her cheeks. The warm glow compliments her eyes, which are green and remind Mabel of springtime, a period of blossoming flowers and vulnerable new life, but the tiny speckles of brown in her pupils juxtapose the delicacy of spring, and offer a hint of roused strength and persistence.

"Oops," Mabel says shamelessly, making Rachel roll her eyes. She leans forward and takes Mabels hands, dainty thumbs brushing over her soft skin. "I'm sorry, Mabel," she whispers, throat closing as tears leak from the corners of her eyes. Mabel leans her head against Rachel's, shutting her eyes.

"Please just try and get clean for me. It hurts so badly to watch you die, then have to save you, over and over..." she whispers, her voice cracking with the deepest pain she’s known, the tips of their noses brushing together. Rachel nods.

"I love you," she says, pressing her silken lips against Mabels chapped ones. She relishes the feeling of Mabels arms wrapping around her waist. She gives the girls knee a loving squeeze, before reluctantly pulling away.

"I'll call you later," Mabel says, hopping up from the bed. "Alright, I'll be waiting," Rachel says, feigning a smile. Mabel can see right through the mask, and that will always kill Rachel. "I love you," Mabel says, grabbing her keys off of the nightstand. "Love you too."

She feels a sense of dread mounting in her stomach, like a grand avalanche. Leaving Rachel feels like a knife being dug into her heart, the blade twisting and turning as she inches further from her partner.

Uncertainty is consistent in their relationship, due to Rachel's frequent overdoses. Every time she crosses the threshold of the grimy, cramped apartment, a million horrifying thoughts surge through her head. She always finds herself wondering if a goodbye kiss will be their last ever, wondering if she'll leave and there will be no one to revive her from an OD.

The scenarios she cooks up are petrifying.

She shudders, and exits the apartment, walking briskly down the narrow hallway. She pushes open the door to the steps and jogs down the two flights of cement stairs. She walks out into the parking lot and slides into her scrappy 2003 Acura

She is deliberately fast, pushing herself away from Rachel before she gives herself the opportunity to run back and never leave her again. Her eyes wander up to the window of the apartment, and her bones ache with regret.

She shuts her eyes and rests her forehead against the steering wheel.

But she has faith, and that will always redeem her.


	2. i live to let you shine

𝑱𝑼𝑳𝒀 rolls around and Mabel couldn't be more relieved. The Montana sun shines magnificently in the soft blue sky. A shimmery morning mist floats over the rivers and mountains and a fresh dew coats the green, lush grass. Mabel and Rachel lie in a field of daffodils, talking and laughing and kissing.

"I'm gonna miss you," Rachel says, dainty fingers toying with the soft yellow petals of a daffodil. Mabel frowns, and perches her head atop Rachel's shoulder. Strands of her dark blonde hair tickle the side of Mabels cheek.

"I'll come visit," she offers, raising her eyebrows. Rachel sighs, wearing a loving smile. "I know, but it'll suck here without you," she mutters, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, Mabels dark hair brushing against her lips. "You'll be busy getting clean hopefully."

Rachel's eyes brighten for once, when they're usually so dull and defunct, and she claps her hands together. "Speaking of, I found a place where I can get clean," she reveals, causing Mabel to gasp and sit up. "Seriously!? That's amazing!" She exclaims, pulling Rachel into her arms. She embraces her tightly, fingers running through her silky hair.

She wants to anchor her there with her for eternity.

Rachel eventually pulls away, and places her gentle hands atop Mabels shoulders. "It's this group called Edens Gate. They offer help for this stuff and it looks really good for me," she explains. Mabels heart swells with pride.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispers, her chin trembling in the slightest way as she bites back tears. Words she never thought she'd hear arrive so pleasantly, with such conviction in promise. She has to see the light, has to believe in Rachel. She smiles through her efforts, and presses a kiss against Rachel's cheek.

Rachel smiles and takes Mabels face in her hands, warm hands tranquil against her skin. She closes her eyes and revels in the beautiful sensation. "I couldn't do this without you," she admits, swiping her thumb across the other girls cheek. Mabel sniffles and shakes her head.

"No, I know how strong you are. You did this," she argues, wearing a prideful grin. Rachel presses a short, adoring kiss against her lips, grateful for Mabels constant support.

"Do you want to go back to my house?" Mabel asks, interlocking her fingers with Rachel's. "That would be nice," she replies, smiling pleasantly. She stands up and offers her hands out. Mabel laughs, and takes her hands. "Do you think I'm old or something?" She teases as the other girl helps her up from the soft bed of flowers. Rachel rolls her eyes, but a quaint smirk remains on her lips. 

"Just being nice," she says, keeping her hand placed in Mabels. The two walk towards the opposite end of the field, where they left their bikes. The daffodils and long grass brush against the girls legs as they move, tickling their skin and making them laugh.

The reach the end of the field and pick up their bikes. They roll them up the hill that leads to the empty street, then they get on the bikes and start pedaling towards Falls End. Rachel lives in the Henbane, in her scrappy little apartment, but she doesn't mind, because she's away from the tight grip of her parents.

Mabel lives in a quaint house with her father, across from the Spread Eagle. Rachel loves to go there, to see the sweet, pleasant dynamic between father and daughter, because she knows she never witnessed that in her own family, and probably never will.

The only sound that fills the air is the soft sway of tall grass and their bike tires rolling against the pavement. The ride side by side, at identical paces. Falls End is nearby.

Rachel takes in the rolling plains and wheat fields that pass by like nude blurs when she's riding. She adores Holland Valley, and thinks she'll move there once she's older.

The girls roll into Falls End, greeting familiar faces as they slow down their pace. They turn into Mabels garage, ditching their bikes in a dusty, crowded corner. The two then enter the house, met by the soft sounds of the television.

"Dad?" Mabel calls, walking down the hallway. She peeks her head into the living room, meeting the identical earthy brown eyes of her father. He wears a warm smile, a smile that Mabel has loved since she was a small child, a smile that has always reminded her that she is safe and warm.

Rachel waves politely. "We're gonna go upstairs, just wanted to say hi," Mabel says, walking over and giving her dad a quick hug. He nods. "Sounds good. I'm just gonna order in for dinner. Is that ok with you two?" He asks, looking between the two girls. They both nod, then head out of the living room, then up the narrow stairs. The dusty wood creaks and wails beneath their footfalls. Rachel's fingers graze against the off white walls, bumping over picture frames and paintings.

They turn down the hallway and into Mabels charmingly small bedroom. The humble room is a relic of the past, a ghost of naive girlhood. The walls were painted pale blue and began to chip away, the wooden bed frame was creaky, the pictures on her walls collected dust. Nothing had changed, but Mabel didn't mind.

Change was petrifying.

The girls lie down on the soft cream duvet of the bed, silently facing eachother. Rachel props her head on her elbow and continues to lovingly gaze at the other girl. Mabel scoots closer towards Rachel, and rests her head atop her chest. Rachel's fingers scrape across Mabels scalp. She closes her eyes, wishing she could lie motionless like this forever,

But reality is one cruel mistress.


	3. an acre before us

𝑺𝑬𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹 comes quick like lighting. It's arrival is brutal slap in the face, a kiss from reality, reminding both Mabel and Rachel that they are crossing the threshold into adulthood.

Rachel sits in a chair in the corner of Mabels bedroom, doe like green eyes ebbing and flowing as they linger upon Mabels hands, which meticulously fold and pack clothes away in a grey suitcase. Her brown locks mask her face as she looks down at her belongings.

Rachel stands up, the floor creaking beneath her bare feet. "Let me help you," she offers gently, fingers grazing over Mabels hand. The frantic packing seizes and she is suddenly very still. Rachel's eyebrows knit together in a worrisome fashion. "Mabel?" She whispers, fingers wandering up her arm, and to her hair. She tenderly tucks a few thick strands behind Mabels ear, revealing her tear streaked face.

She looks ashamed of herself, and that provokes an even deeper ache within Rachel's heart. She moves around the bed, standing alongside Mabel. Her arms wrap around the girl, snug and secure around her waist. Rachel rests her chin atop Mabels pointy shoulder.

"Don't cry," she says quietly, nuzzling her face in the side of her neck. She drinks down Mabels scent, inhaling it like its oxygen, fresh laundry and vanilla, a home. She keeps the smell committed to memory for the lonely nights ahead. 

"I'm just really gonna miss you," Mabel croaks, sniffling and desperately wiping her damp cheeks. Rachel sighs as a tear dribbles down her own skin. "I'm gonna miss you too, but you're gonna go to an amazing school, Mabel, that's so great," she assures, fingers rubbing soothing circles into her back.

Mabel slightly smiles the best she can, and pretends to believe Rachel.

"And I'm gonna be getting better. These are the things we need to do," Rachel continues, her benignly sweet voice cracking and fading away in a sorrowful manner that reminds Mabel that life isn’t quite as simple as it used to be.

Mabel turns around and wraps her arms around Rachel's neck, embracing her with a loving fierceness. Her nails dig into the others girls back, as if her touch will keep her anchored there in her childhood bedroom.

They stand there, trembling against one another as cries rumble through them like thunder. "Mabel, five minutes!" Her father yells from downstairs. She clumsily hiccups against Rachel's smooth, silken shoulder. Everything about her is soft and velvety. Mabel consumes every perfect adoration that graces her, and keeps it locked away in her head.

She pulls away from Rachel, sniffling and trying to dab away the loose tears that sit on her cheekbones. Rachel picks up the suitcase for her. Mabel smiles weakly but graciously.

The girls exit the room, and descend down the steps. Mabels father immediately recognizes the tear streaks that stain their faces, and sadness consumes him. But he does not show it, not wanting to make the two feel any worse.

He forces a strained smile.

"Thanks Rachel," he says, taking the suitcase from her smaller hand. He steps outside and takes it to the truck. He lingers outside, wanting to give them a few more moments alone.

The girls stand before eachother, fighting off the violent urge to cry. Mabel takes Rachel's face in her hands, thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones. Rachel shuts her eyes, savoring Mabels enthralling touch. Time stops. Its just them, and molecules of dust. She declares this very spot paradise, and she can never leave.

Mabel kisses her suddenly, with heat and electrifying need. Carnal aspirations linger in the air, but there is no time. They breathe in each other's scents like these are their dying breaths, before pulling away from eachother.

Mabel hands leave Rachel's face. She's left feeling unfulfilled and cold, until her hand is taken into Mabels. The two can barely look at one another, because they know it'll just make separating even more impossible.

They descend down the steps and out into the driveway. Rachel is gripping her hand with bone crushing velocity, but Mabel doesn't mind. They inch towards the car, where Mabels father is waiting. "This is everything, right?" He asks. Mabel nods.

"Ok, I'll hop in the truck, and give you two another moment-" he begins, only to be interrupted by Rachel. "No, it's ok. We've said goodbye," she insists, practically choking on the words. Her throat is closing and her head hurts as she suppresses a sob.

She know one more moment alone will inspire Mabel to make a brash decision.

Mabel turns and gives her hand a slight squeeze. She wants to give Rachel a reassuring smile, but her eyes are so dull and her body feels so heavy, so she grimaces, and turns away, sliding into the backseat of the truck.

Rachel steps back, silently watching the truck back out into the street. The soft grass beneath her feet reminds her of Mabels soft skin, and the warmth of the summer evening is similar to her tender arms, and the way they wrap around her like a blanket. 

She gasps as a sob rips through her, and she sinks to the ground, body quivering like a leaf.

Mabels head is pressed against the window, glass cool against her skin. Her hand is muffled against her mouth as she desperately tries to snuff out her cries. Her father sees her, and feels his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

"You'll see her soon, Mabel. This isn't forever," he assures, smiling reassuringly at her in the mirror. She nods, but feels another sob tearing her apart. She feels physically ill, the hole in her heart growing and growing as she inches further from Rachel Jessop.  
__________________________________

𝑭𝑨𝑳𝑳 comes. The air grows cooler, and the green leaves transform into rich shades of orange, brown, and red. It's October and Halloween is fast approaching. Mabel was usually very excited for Halloween, but without Rachel, there was nothing to be eager about.

The girls had talked over the phone since she went to get clean at "Edens Gate." Rachel had said they were very religious and strict, but she was sober, and Mabel was thankful for that at least.

The conversations didn't occur as often as she preferred, but she assumed it was due to the strict nature of the facility and the time Rachel was spending on getting better. College at NYU was going well. Mabel didn't have many friends and was still adjusting to the city life, but she figured this was the price she had to pay for a stellar education and more opportunities.

She had been back in Montana recently for Thanksgiving with her father and his family, and wanted to see Rachel, but the runners of the facility wouldn't let her. It was devastating to both Mabel and Rachel, but there wasn't much she could do.

That situation had only further worsened her mental state, but gave her a bit of hope. She could find comfort in the fact that they were so focused on helping Rachel get better.

Mabel couldn't have ever known what was coming next.

_____________________________

𝑫𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹 arrives with a brutal coldness. New York winters are a shock to Mabel. She sits in JFK Airport, bundled up in two sweaters and a heavy black coat. A red scarf Rachel had gotten for her is wrapped around her throat and her hand grips the handle of her suitcase. Her flight is called and she weaves through the large crowds, and shows the woman at the terminal her ticket. She then goes through the terminal and enters the plane.

She takes a seat alongside an older woman, asking politely if she can sit. The woman is kind and nods her head. She removes her coat and scarf, stuffing the garments in the overhead compartments, along with her suitcase. It's five A.M and she's exhausted.

She leans her head back against the headrest, and dozes off with visions of Rachel floating behind her eyelids.

______________________________

𝑺𝑵𝑶𝑾 covers the parking lot of the airport. It's thick and soft, but not as monumental as New York's blizzards. She waits on the sidewalk for her father, gloved hands wrapped around her own being in a measly attempt to warm herself. Her chapped lips and hooked nose are shielded by the red scarf. It's warm and thick and smells of Rachel still.

She sees her fathers blue pickup truck roll in, snow coating the tires. She smiles behind her scarf and rushes towards the car. She pulls open the door, removes her scarf, and tosses her suitcase and carryon into the backseat, before hugging her dad with all the strength she can muster.

"I missed you so much," she mutters against his burly shoulder, which is covered in a warm fleece coat. "Missed you too, kid. How's school going?" He asks, pulling away and turning out into the main road. Mabel shrugs. "Same old."

He frowns. "Have you made any friends?" He asks, hopeful that she has, but she shakes her head. "Nope," she mumbles sadly, bowing her head. Her father sighs, and pats her back tenderly. "You'll get adjusted soon, Mabel. I know it," he assures. Mabel does not believe a word he says, but nods, feigning the unattainable feeling of hope.

"Do you like the city at least?" He asks, practically begging for some good news. She nods, and she isn't lying this time. "I didn't think I would, but I've adjusted and it's beautiful," she remarks, smiling faintly as she reflects on her daily commute to school.

It's so simple, but so fulfilling. She loves routines and she's glad she has one. She gets dressed in her cramped dorm, and grabs her bag. She pushes through the crowded dorm hall before inhaling the crisp air of the city.

She stops by the coffee cart on her way to British Literature, and buys a black coffee and a blueberry muffin. She swiftly drinks the coffee on her way, although it burns her tongue, and eats the muffin after. Her footfalls are fleeting as she enters the literature hall, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm glad to hear that," her father says, smiling graciously at his daughter. She turns her head and looks out of the window, pleased to see the rolling plains and towering mountain peaks covered in a thick glaze of white snow.

The truck rolls into Falls End, and Mabel feels even more at ease. 

They drive into the garage, and although she hates the smell of the old tools and wood, it's welcoming, and reminds her that she is home.

She unbuckles her seat belt and hops out of the truck. Her dad has already grabbed her belongings. She rolls her eyes. "Always the strongman," she teases, elbowing him in his side. A laugh rumbles through him as they enter the home. 

Mabel inhales the scent of a ham in the oven. "The ham smells good," she says, sighing contently. "Glad you sniffed it out," he retorts, making her snort. She grabs her bags and swiftly jogs up the steps.

As soon as she enters her room, Rachel penetrates the barriers of her mind. Her divinely serene face is all Mabel can visualize. She imagines Rachel's tender embrace, the way her arms are so gentle as they wrap around her waist. She imagines her sylphlike movements, how pleasantly graceful she is as she wanders around the room. Mabel feels they are such violent juxtapositions of eachother, herself clunky and uncoordinated, and Rachel so distinguished. She feels so dreadfully plain, while Rachel is so beautifully unique.

But she loves the way they separate and come together like a serpentine. She'd like to think that their abrupt differences make them magnificent.

She inches closer towards the phone, fingers running over the dusty cord. She slowly picks it up and dials Rachel's number. She presses the phone against her ear and hopes that Rachel will answer. 

After a few rings, she hears Rachel's sing song voice, but something feels distant about her tone, as if she's not all there. "Hello?" She chirps, voice higher than normal. "Rachel? It's Mabel," she says, eyebrows drawn together in concern. Rachel lets out a soft giggle.

"It's beautiful here. I never want to leave. I wish you were here," she drawls, sighing happily. Mabel feels her heart hammering beneath the confines of her rib cage. "Rachel? What's going on?" She asks frantically, shooting up from the bed. 

"Don't worry, Mabel. I'm Faith now. I'm happy here. I wish you could join me." Rachel's strange, benign frothing sends fear rippling through Mabel's entire body.

"A-Are you shooting up?" She asks, swallowing thickly. Tears rim her eyes as she anxiously paces the bedroom. "I'm in the bliss," she replies, whatever the fuck that means.

"You're scaring me, Rachel. Please tell me what's going on," she pleads, muffling a hand over her mouth as the urge to cry becomes overwhelming. "I'm Faith now, Mabel."

A sob tears through Mabel.

She drops the phone, sinking down against the wall. Her head falls in her hands, fingers twisting in her hair madly. She feels helpless. Who's Faith? What's "the Bliss?"

Are these all strung out ramblings?

Mabel has no clue, and that terrifies her.


	4. this dream isn’t feeling sweet

𝑨𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑳 arrives. New York is even more heavenly than before. Cherry blossom trees grow in Central Park, pink petals raining over Mabel when she takes a leisurely stroll. The temperature is a perfect balance and the grass is lush and green.

Mabel would be more delighted if she knew what was happening to Rachel.

She's called and texted incessantly and Rachel hasn't replied. She's beginning to feel more like a distant memory in Mabels mind, a reminder of adolescence and sweet, naive love. Rachel feels gone, made of broken promises and intangibility. 

Mabel's been working on a letter for her, a grand, final effort to receive some sort of response from her. Her last few grains of hope and dignity have been reserved for this culminating push, and she wonders if the effort will be worth it.

She's made a few friends finally. A group of other literature majors. A girl from Belgium named Anke and a boy from upstate New York named Harry. They're the only people except for Rachel that can make Mabel cry of laughter and happiness. They're the camaraderie she's needed for a long, long time.

She walks down the sidewalks of Brooklyn with them, giggling and hiccuping, due to her slight inebriation. They all link arms and sing and yell and laugh loudly. The sting of Vodka is fresh in her throat and a fire erupts within her.

She remembers the first time her and Rachel got drunk together. They were fourteen and found some whiskey in her fathers cabinet. They practically drank the entire bottle and were surprised to find themselves alive the next morning. 

But it's a fading reminder of when everything had been ok.

"Oh shit, wait!" She calls to Anke and Harry. They come to a halt. "What is it?" Anke asks, standing alongside Harry. Mabels hands dig into her jean pocket, and she retrieves a crumpled envelope.

"Just need to mail something to a friend," she mutters, turning towards a blue graffitied mailbox. Her fingers tremble as they inch closer towards the slot. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. She knows nothing except disappointment and sorrow will come from waiting, years of missed opportunities and regret. She doesn't want that.

So she slides the envelope into the slot, and turns back to her friends, forcing a smile.

Maybe it's easiest to just let go of the past.

______________________________________

☆꧁༒𝑺𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵 𝒀𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑺 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹༒꧂☆

𝑴𝑨𝑩𝑬𝑳 𝑫𝑨𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑶𝑵 sits uncomfortably in JFK Airport. It's hot and crowded, and she just wants to get back to Hope County to see her father. But she's used to the dense crowds and lengthy waits at this point. She's lived in New York City for seven years, and she loves it there. There's something so invigorating about the city, a manic type of energy she never knew in Hope County. 

It's been almost two years since she's been back in Montana. Her father always comes to her to visit. He's grown to adore New York almost as much as she has. But she's relieved to be visiting her hometown again, and a little bit nervous.

Her father tells her about a growing doomsday cult in Hope County. Members are scattered all over town and are violent. There are cult lieutenants in each section of the county, causing death and destruction, and dragging more and more residents into their trap.

She tries her best to push the grim thought of her father being harmed to the back of her mind as she waits for her plane.

She shuts her eyes and leans her head back against the rigid plastic seat she sits in. The cries of a baby fill her ears and her irritation worsens. She suppresses a grunt and wraps her arms around herself.

Her flight is called. Thank god. She immediately shoots upwards from her chair, rolling her luggage towards the terminal. The man at the terminal glances at her ticket and nods. She smiles politely and walks through the terminal, and onto the plane.

She takes a seat alongside a younger looking woman. Almost immediately, she shuts her eyes, and tries to block out the world around her.

______________________________

𝑾𝑨𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 is the worst part. Mabel has grown impatient since leaving Hope County. She's learned that time is of the essence and that a second cannot be wasted, but so many seconds and minutes dissolve into nothingness as she stands outside on the pavement, the summer breeze rippling through her dark hair and clothes. The leaves are green and bountiful, and the sunlight consumes her whole. She does not hear the loud chatter of pedestrians and other city goers, but the echoes of waterfalls and birds chirping.

She'd be able to enjoy the change of pace more if she wasn't worrying about her father.

It had been thirty minutes, and her father was not a late man. Her stomach began to churn with unease, and her mind darts to the worst case scenario. She had been trying to work on her anxieties, but her efforts always proved to be fruitless in times like these.

She fishes her cellphone out of her back pocket and calls a cab. The signal is very weak, but she manages to speak with a man briefly. Shes right outside of Hope County and dying to get back inside of her hometown. Something is awry and she can feel it in her bones.

After a few more agonizing moments, a cab rolls up and she briskly hops into the backseat with her luggage. She makes polite small talk with the driver and stares longingly at the wheat fields and towering mountain peaks.

They are barely inside of Hope County, when the encounter a roadblock of burly, scruffy looking men, with tankers and beige pickup trucks. They wear raggedy clothes that have a strange logo imprinted on the fabric.

Her body goes numb. This must be the cult.

"What the fuck," the driver mutters, coming to a halt. The strange men approach the car, and Mabel feels her throbbing heart sink into her stomach as they inch closer, guns strapped to their sides. The driver fumbles to unlock his glove compartment, quickly retrieving a small handgun. He holds it securely as the men surround the front of the car.

Mabel ducks down, wedging her body in between the floor and seats. Something horrible is going to happen. It's inevitable.

"Fuck off!" The driver yells. Mabel hears him lock the doors. She hears the banging on the hood of the car and the drivers window, then the eerie shatter of glass.

Mabel hears him scream, then a few gunshots. Silence. A thin layer of sweat coats her body and she feels icy cold. She remains painfully still, eyes wide and dark pupils dilated. Her heart is pounding against her ribcage, as if it's trying to escape its confines. 

"Should we take him to John?" A gruff voice asks. She hears a grunt. "He's not worthy of atonement," another feminine voice says. "Just leave the sinner." She hears their footfalls grow distant, boots crunching against gravel. 

Her body is unmoving, cramped between the front seats and back seats. She's never known utter terror like this. Feels like some sort of lucid nightmare, dreadfully long and unending. But then she realizes that this so painfully real, and that she needs to get the fuck out.

Her arms tremble as she raises herself slightly, eyes peaking over the shoulder of the now dead driver. She gasps upon the feeling of her chin against his bloody shoulder and ducks back down, a nauseous feeling overpowering her.

She squeezes her eyes shut, hand trapped over her mouth and snuffing out a sob/gag. She lies there for a few moments, in a measly attempt to calm herself down. But how does one calm themself down in a situation like this?

She has no idea, frankly.

With hesitance, she leans back up, eyes meeting the road block of men and tankers. They meander around the vehicles, luckily not facing the car. She feels that this is her only chance to escape. Her eyes remain glued to the men as she fumbles to reach the mans gun. Her fingers grope and feel over his bloodied body and she muffles another cry.

Her hand eventually caresses the cool metal of the handgun.

She snatches it up quickly, and ducks back down. It's time to open the door. Tears begin to dribble down her skin. They are hot and rushed, reminding her of the misery of this situation, and the slim chance that she'll escape. Her left hand wraps around the door handle. She cranes her body upwards one more time and makes sure they aren't looking.

She sucks in a deep breath, and opens the door with agonizingly slow force. She purses her lips, holding her breath as she pushes it open without sound. She holds the gun away from her and drags her body out of the car.

She immediately closes the door slightly, and crawls behind the car. The gun is held fiercely against her chest, hands damp and shaky around the metal. She looks over her shoulder. Some men have dispersed into the woods, and a few remain at the roadblock.

She removes her heels, and discards them beneath the car. Her feet blister against the scorching pavement. She grits her teeth and angles her body forward, preparing to run across the street and into the greenery.

She sprints without much thought. There is no time to think. It's live or die.

Her feet smack against the street, and she jumps over a railing, and into the shrubbery, gasping and sobbing quietly. "What was that?" She hears the same rough voice ask.

She resigns to her position, crawling against the soft floor of the forest. The bushes shield her. She's dragging herself deeper into the forest. But she hears sudden footsteps, familiar boots snapping twigs and crunching leaves. With quick thinking, she unloops her belt and holds it securely in her hand.

She can see the back of the mans head. He's bald and has the same logo engraved in his skin. She quietly inches towards him, then leaps up, dropping the gun and wrapping her belt around his throat. She muffles her other hand over his mouth. The leather is tight around his neck and she hears something snap.

The sound is grim and raw. Reminds her of how dire this day truly is.

She picks up her gun and shoves the belt in her back pocket. She kneels down and moves along at a slightly faster pace. Pure adrenaline floods through her, inspiring her each and every move from there on out. Her cream colored shorts and grey tank are stained by dirt and mud as she maneuvers against the flat earth. She needs to find a change of clothes soon.

After several minutes of excruciating movements, she is at a safe distance. 

She cautiously rises to her feet, her entire body aching as she stands. Shallow cuts and scrapes throb against her skin. She grimaces, and tightens her hold on the handgun.

She marches at a fast pace. She can navigate Falls End from this point and it's thankfully up the road. The bushes scratch against her skin as she walks, but she feels slightly numb, disconnected from her own body. 

Once safely close to Falls End, she wanders back into the street. Thank god it's empty. Her lungs burn as she breaks into a sprint, running for cover and longing for familiarity. 

But as she inches closer and her eyes study the scene, she realizes that something grizzly has happened there as well.

She sees normal citizens in the streets, but bodies of townspeople and the strange figures from before litter the pavement. The saliva in her throat thickens and her body tremors.

Her father.

She does not see his body, but somehow finds it in her to run even faster.

She can feel the pure chaos and panic of citizens as she weaves through crowds and her body collides with others, but her surroundings are a blur and she has declared that nothing matters, except finding her father.

Her feet pound up the steps of her childhood front porch. She pushes the door open and looks around the living room, her pupils dilated and swimming in fearful tears.

"Dad?" She calls, observing the ransacked room. She swiftly turns into the kitchen, and immediately trips over something heavy. A gasp escapes her lips as she collides with the cold tiled floor. But her right foot hits something warm and fleshy.

His eyes are wide open, and so is his mouth, but a trail of blood dribbles down the sides of his lips and more of the dark red substance pools around his head. Her immediate instinct is to cradle him in her arms, so she does.

His blood is sticky and wraps around her like a warm blanket. Her fingers rush to find his pulse point, but not a sound remains.

"Dad?" She croaks, as if her soft calls will awaken him. She pats his face, her entire body icy cold and quivering. He's unmoving. Mabel leans her forehead against his, shutting her eyes in defeat. Broken and animalistic cries rip through her. Shes never howled in such a deranged way before. Everything has been taken, stripped away, it seems.

And she's so exhausted.

Her tears drip onto his pale, sickly skin, and wash some of the blood away.


	5. clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters are so rough y’all I’m sorry😭

Mabels bare feet drag against the pavement. They're blistered and scraped, but she doesn't feel an ounce of pain. The moon hangs in the ink black sky. She hopes it'll fall on her in a white hot flash and kill her.

She wanders up the street of Falls End, lazily eying her surroundings. She no longer feels fond of her hometown, but miserable and terrified of what will happen next. Not much as changed since she left, just a few new citizens, but it remains still and picturesque, another dusty, faded memory that she can cling onto.

Then she remembers the bodies that littered the streets, the blood that stained the walls, and she decides her hometown is now less of a childhood relic, but a reminder of the tragedy and uncertainty her life has been full of.

She wanders towards the church. She's never been religious herself, but her mother was, and she needs to remember something fondly right now. Her mother died in a fleeting flash. Car rammed into hers at an intersection and she was dead in the blink of an eye.

Mabel took solace in the fact that nothing was tarnished, nothing altered within her mother. No suffering or moments of desperation; just instantaneous death.

Of course, she didn't realize that until she was much older.

She climbs up the steps, and walks through the white, blood smeared doors of the church. The lighting is harsh and she squints slightly. A man with glasses and a black bulletproof vest sits on a chair, reading a bible. She notices that he wears a clergy shirt beneath the vest.

He looks up at her, eyes scanning her up and down. His focused look melts into one of sorrow, and she can't blame him. She looks pitiful, clothes torn, hair tangled, skin bloody. "You're Mr. Daulton's daughter, right?" He asks, voice deep as an ocean and profound.

She nods. Her throat is already closing.

"I heard what happened. I'm always here for anything you need. To pray or just talk." She nods again, and takes a seat on a splintered crate. A sigh escapes her lips. A mixture of relief and sorrow and confusion tumble through her like a storm.

"What happened today?" She asks, voice scratchy and raw. He looks grim, lips pulled into a thin line. "Cultists came, took over Falls End. The deputy came and helped us fight them off, but it was too late. So many lives were lost.." he explains, voice fading off.

She cannot control herself as her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"The deputy? I haven't been here in over two years," she says, leaning forward. The man nods with sympathy. "A few deputies and a U.S Marshal came here to arrest the man running the cult, Joseph Seed, but things went...awry, and one of the deputies has been helping us out. Two others were captured by the cult, and so was the Marshal," he further elaborates, shaking his head in dismay.

Mabel shudders. She didn't know how serious this whole ordeal truly was.

"Jesus," she rasps, head falling in her hands. She's further disturbed by this information, and it makes her realize just how wretched her fathers last moments were. She sits there motionless for a few moments, attempting to process the slew of information she's receiving, but there's a dull thumping in her head and an incessant ringing in her ears. 

"You look tired. Go home and get some rest," the man advises, laying a tender hand atop her shoulder. "How can I help?" She asks, blatantly ignoring his previous suggestion. His eyebrows furrow together. "Help with what?"

"Taking down the cult."

He wears the slightest smile. "Join the Resistance, and help us get our people back," he instructs. She simply nods. "You can come to me or Mary May at the Spread Eagle for any tasks. There's always something to be done here," he says, patting her shoulder once more before removing his hand.

She wordlessly rises from her makeshift seat. Her legs buckle and her vision blurs. She hasn't eaten or drunk. She turns towards the door, and hobbles away. Once at the door, she turns towards the man.

"What's your name?"she asks drowsily. "Pastor Jerome."

She nods in a silent acknowledgment, and leaves the church.

______________________________

She doesn't sleep.

The gears in her head twist and turn in an agonizing manner as she lays motionless in her childhood bedroom. Her feet dangle over the rusty metal bed frame, mattress harder than she remembers beneath her aching body, but maybe it's the pain and older age speaking.

Rachel swirls in her head, voice sounding in her ears like a siren. Mabel shuts her eyes and imagines the warmth of the other woman's body against her own, and only feels even more hopeless, because Rachel is gone, and has been for many years. She wonders what happened to the woman, if she moved away or remained in the Henbane, or if she died of an overdose.

The final conclusion is menacing, but the most realistic outcome.

The sun rises and orange light spills through the stained windows. Mabel barely notices in her deranged state. Her eyes have been open for so long. They feel bloodshot and stiff. She feels like she will never rest peacefully again, like slumber is another distant memory that she has let go of, similar to so many other things she once enjoyed.

How does one even begin sleep in such a grave era?

She supposes she'll never know, and turns onto her stomach, facing the window. She can see the rolling plains and mountains. They're so far away. She wants to reach out and touch them but knows they'll dissolve into a shimmery powder of broken dreams.

She finds herself wondering about the cult. She wonders if they'll take her, or murder her in her own home, like they had done to her father. She wonders about Joseph Seed, and why a team of deputies and a U.S Marshal were unable to detain him.

But she pushes those questions to the back of her mind, knowing she's unhinged and incapable of producing answers.

Her throat is so dry that words cannot make it past her lips, coming out in rasps and coughs. She knows it would be noble to get a drink of water, but she doesn't want to move. 

She wants to lie still and drown out the violence of Hope County.

______________________________________

Mabel kneels alongside Pastor Jerome and a few other Resistance members. They sift through the tall grass with a deadly silence, rifles strapped to their backs. Mabels hands graze along the ground as they inch closer to Woodson Pig Farm. Jerome says the cult is holding people hostage there, and she's more than eager to seek vengeance.

This is her first outing with the Resistance and she wishes she could feign nervousness, but since her tragic arrival into Hope County, she decides that there can be no hesitation, no fear, only violence and compassion for those who need saving. Anything else is a blur.

They reach the front fence of the residence. The pig sign out front is graffitied with the word "Gluttony" in scraggly thick handwriting. The defacement of the place makes her blood boil.

Her and Jerome silently head up the front steps to the house, and the others disperse around the sides of the house. Jerome is ahead of her, and they spot a man in the front room of the house, kicking and punching a hostage.

Jerome stalks closer to him, and Mabel follows. He lurches upwards and snaps the mans neck with such elegance and grace, like he's a ballerina doing a pirouette. It amazes Mabel. She plans on learning how to do that.

She turn down a hall and through a side door. A man with a flamethrower roasts what she presumes to be dead bodies. The smell of roasting flesh is pungent and sweet. She suppresses a gag.

"I'll get him," she whispers to Jerome. He nods.

Her footfalls are fleeting yet stealthy, and her skin grows hot as she inches closer towards the man and the fire he's started. She retrieves her belt from her pocket and leaps up, wrapping it firmly around his neck and snuffing out his yells. The snap of his windpipe feels less gruesome than her first kill. It feels much more deserved and satisfying,

And her gratification almost disturbs her.

But she smothers her concerns and turns towards the back area of the house, pleased to see that the other Resistance members have successfully taken down the remaining cultists.

The hostages are free.

She lets out a sigh of relief, and shoves her belt into her back pocket. They silently lead the hostages to a safe, secluded spot in the forest. Mabel's relieved that they won't be captured or murdered by the cult.

She slings her new rifle over her back, and follows Jerome and the resistance members back towards Falls End. The gravel crunches beneath her boots as her eyes wander to the heavens. The sun is setting and a brilliant mixture of orange and pink paints the sky. The grass sways delicately in the evening breeze, and Mabel silently observes.

Her fondness for the county is so slim, so diminished and it hurts so badly. A county so gorgeous and bountiful ravaged and torn apart by violent cultists, stripped of its secluded elegance. It hurts her hardened heart. But moping around wouldn't do much anything. Violence is now necessary.

She jogs forward, catching up to Jerome. "How'd you snap that guys neck?" She asks, grinning for the first time in a couple of days as she imagines the brutality of his body crumpling against the floor from Jeromes lethal strike. He lets out a chuckle.

"Just bent his head at the right angle and twisted his neck. You should try it next time," he explains, elbowing her. She nods in agreement. Pastor Jerome faintly reminds her of her father. Fierce, yet devoted and kind.

She shudders, the image of her fathers bloodied body penetrating the barriers of her mind. She needs to try and forget him, forget anything before this.

"Look," Jerome whispers with sudden harshness, pointing towards a structure in the distance. "What is that?" Mabel asks quietly. "Grain elevator. They're keeping Mary May's truck there," a resistance member interjects. She nods. "Wanna try and get it?" Another member asks. Everyone nods in collective agreement, including Mabel.

So that's what they do.

They move silently but with dexterity across the street and into the shrubbery. Mabel sees cultists patrolling the grounds and hot rage bubbles in the pit of her stomach. 

"The trucks in there," Jerome mutters, pointing towards a tall garage. "I don't think we can stealth this one," a member whispers. Jerome shakes his head. "Me neither."

So they don't.

She grips her rifle tight as they run out onto the dirt, shooting down cultists. "Go get the truck!" A resistance member yells towards Mabel. She nods and turns, running towards the door. To her delight, it's unlocked. She pulls it open, but nearly gasps upon the sight of several gruff cultists.

She raises her rifle and shoots at them, ducking behind a water crate. She makes a headshot on one woman and shoots the others several times in the torso, before leaping up and grabbing the keys to the truck, which are conveniently hung on the door. She climbs up the monstrous beast of a truck and into the drivers seat.

The garage door opens and she starts the vehicle, driving out onto the dirt. She drives out onto the main road, slamming into a cult truck and toppling it over. The radio crackles and she hears the voice of a cultist.

"Someone made off with the widowmaker! Block the roads leading back to Falls End, and don't let it through!" She's surprised at the laugh that rumbles through her.

"Holy shit, you did it! You took back the Widowmaker! Cults gonna throw everything at ya now. Ram it right back down their fuckin' throats!" She barks. "Got it," Mabel replies into the mouthpiece. "My daddy put cannons on that thing. Don't be shy Mabel, shoot away," she says, and Mabel wears a toothy grin.

She rams through roadblocks, crushing cultists beneath the thick tires of the Widowmaker. She shoots and chucks explosives at ATV's and cult trucks, and it's all painfully delightful. The little game she plays of savagery and destruction is a newfound thrill that she never could've seen coming.

After ramming through eight or nine roadblocks, she turns into Falls End, weary of any pedestrians. She parks it beside the Spread Eagle, and hops out, warmly embraced by Mary May. "Didn't scratch it too much, did ya?" She asks, making Mabel smile and shake her head. "Gotta say, Mabel, seeing my dads truck rumblin' home sure brings back memories," she remarks, sighing. Mabel understands the tragedy of losing a father now, and sympathetically nods.

"I'd stand out here every time he came back, just like this, waving him home. Ya definitely got the grip to handle her. And most importantly, you've got the heart. My dad woulda liked you." She says, wearing a sadly reminiscent smile. "Mine would've liked you too, I think," Mabel says, rubbing Mary's flannel covered shoulder. She doesn't feel quite comfortable yet discussing her father, but does it anyway in an attempt to remind Mary that she isn't alone.

"If you ever need to use the Widowmaker, you don't even gotta ask." She says, and Mabel smiles gratefully. "In the meantime, I'll keep my ear to the ground. If I hear anything that's worth your while, I'll let you know."

Mabel gives the other woman a final hug, before walking out into the street. Jerome and the others arrive in a pickup truck. He hops out of the drivers seat, roaring with laughter.

"That was fantastic!" He yells enthusiastically, giving Mabel a high-five. She snorts and shakes her head. "Just giving the cult what they deserve," she says, shrugging her shoulders like she didn't spend her day killing cultists (all and all, people), and wanders off towards her childhood home.

She doesn't sleep that night.


	6. guilty sadist

It's been a month since Mabel rolled into Hope County, and she's gotten more done with the Resistance than she ever imagined possible. They've liberated all cult outposts, and done loads of tasks for citizens of Holland Valley, and she's learned much more about who's taken over the area. 

He's a man named John Seed, one of the four people that tore the county apart. She only knows of him and Joseph so far. She hasn't exactly had the time to get the full rundown, between silently snapping the necks of cultists and planning attacks with the Resistance.

These days it seems like that's all she knows, violence and destruction.

She's met the deputy. He's a young man named Drew Claymore. A bit shy but kind hearted, with a taste for savagery and vengeance, the perfect combination. Another deputy, Hudson, has been captured by John, and he's fighting desperately to free her. Mabel and the Resistance work alongside him, from dusk to dawn.

She sits atop a stool at the Spread Eagle, knocking back shots of tequila alongside Deputy Claymore and the Resistance members. She's laughing purely and truly for the first time in ages, her fondness for the town slightly rekindled in her drunken state. Mary May stands behind the bar, laughing along with them as she cleans the countertops with a rag.

Mabel fans her face, feeling warm and sweaty from summers heat and the copious amounts of alcohol. She blinks a few times and turns around. "I'm gonna get some air," she announces, stumbling slightly.

"Me too," Deputy Claymore agrees, hopping off his stool, almost as clumsy as Mabel.

The two leave the bar, engulfed by the nights breeze. It carries them down the road. They drunkenly fumble and laugh. She links arms with him, trying to catch her balance. His cheeks are flushed red and a dopey smile is smeared across his face.

"You're more fun than I thought you'd be, deputy," she admits, snorting. He raises his eyebrows, and shakes his head. "I'm just fun when I'm drunk," he retorts, and groans. "Stop lying. You're plenty of fun always," she says, and he resigns himself to his shy smile.

The two wander out into a wheat field. They come to a halt as Mabel gazes up at the heavens. The stars gleam with a special zeal in the velvety dark. She connects dots and creates patterns in her mind, and she is reminded of the blissful innocence of her childhood. So much ignorance, so much creativity and raw energy bursting from every pore in her tiny little body. The possibilities were endless and her only concern was the way the stars aligned.

And everything is now so trivial, it seems.

She lets out a sigh, and shuts her eyes, pushing her worries away with a gentle nudge. 

"This is nice," she slurs, tapping Drew's wrist. He nods in agreement. "I wish Hudson was here to see it," he mutters, voice dropping an octave. She turns to face him, and frowns at the tears his pupils seem to swim in.

"We'll get her back here, I can promise you that much," she says confidently, squeezing his shoulder. She can't tell if he truly believes her words, but he nods and forces a lopsided smile.

The silence is forgiving and warm, until it's not.

"Him 'em with the bliss bullets!"

Gunfire rains over them. Bullets penetrate their skin but these bullets aren't lethal. It's some sort of tranquilizer. Time moves in an unhurried blur, the landscape sliding and moving as she falls to the floor. A strange ringing is heavy in her ears and she wants to look at Drew, but her body is so heavy.

She shuts her eyes, and lets the bountiful darkness consume her.

______________________________

She's strapped to a stained metal chair when she awakens.

Her wrists and ankles are bound with duct tape. Dark earthy eyes widen and she immediately struggles to move. Her dark brown hair masks her face, which has twisted into a grimace as she begins to panic.

She hears the thud of something metal, and her head shoots up. The manic gaze of a madman washes over her and she feels hopeless. He looks away from her and begins to whistle a tune, pulling out several tools that look capable of torment. Her skin crawls as she diverts her eyes from him, and stares pleadingly at Deputy Claymore and a woman with olive skin and a black braid. She must be Hudson.

She looks even worse than Mabel. Dried mascara tears cling to her cheeks and bruises and cuts litter her skin. Her clothes are putrid and ripped and Mabels heart aches for her.

"My parents were the first ones to teach me about the power of yes." John Seed begins, now facing Deputy Claymore. He eyes Hudson and Mabel, a devious smirk spread across his face. He stalks around in a predatory manner and Mabel feels like she needs to scrub her skin raw of the grime from just glancing at him.

He turns around, retrieving more tools from his box. "One night, they took me into the kitchen, and they threw me on the ground.." he violently staples carved out pieces of flesh onto a wooden board at his workbench. They are engraved with different sins in scraggly, bloody lines. He looks so unbothered, his voice disturbingly even and smooth.

Mabel sucks in a sharp breath and holds back a gag.

"And I experienced pain after pain after pain after.." he rambles on and interrupts his own crazed mantra by slamming the stapler down against the workbench. His chest heaves slightly but he looks perfectly tranquil. It’s all controlled, something wrathful and angry lurking beneath his facade. She jumps slightly and so do the deputies.

He cocks his head, eyeing Mabel with a sly look. "And when I didn't think I could take anymore," he pauses and retrieves a screwdriver, stalking towards Deputy Claymore. He thrashes around in his chair and so does Hudson. Mabels fierce screams are muffled by the duct tape over her mouth.

"I did," he states matter of factly. "Something broke free inside," he continues, turning on a blood stained table lamp in front of Drew. "I wasn't scared, I was... clear." His tone is so hushed, so steady despite the painful words that crawl from his throat and make Mabel cringe. His composure is sickening.

"I looked up at them, and I started to laugh," he recounts, smirking slightly as he puts together a tattoo gun. Mabels eyebrows knit together and the sweat that cloaks her like a blanket grows cold. "All I could say was... yes."

He turns on the tattoo gun and Hudson begins to yell against the tape and flail around. Mabel can't imagine how many of these torture sessions she's endured, how many of these unnervingly calm ramblings she's had to listen to, and that's when she truly understands why Deputy Claymore wanted her out of Johns reach.

He switches the tattoo gun off and continues his lunatic chatter.

"I spent my entire life looking for more things to say yes to." He drags Drew's chair closer towards him. "I opened every hole in my body, and when those were filled, I created more." He gazes at Drew, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. Hudson continues to groan and scream against the confine on her lips.

"But.. it was Joseph who showed me just how selfish I was being." He lathers Drew's chest with a disinfectant, and Mabel begins to wonder just how battered John was to turn out this way, what kind of circumstances he endured to manifest into such a villainous creature, but then she remembers the betrayals and tragedies she's undergone, the way she's had everything she's ever loved stripped away, and she realizes didn't turn out like him.

Her sympathy is fleeting, vanishing into dust as soon as it arrives.

Just another trait of hers that's been erased, and replaced with something worse.

"Always receiving, always taking. The best gift isn't the one you get, it's the one you give." The tacky, warm hallmark quote is perverted by John and twisted into something sinister and deadly. Hudson sobs, motionless in her chair.

"Giving takes courage, the courage to own your sin." He drops the sponge and saunters away from Deputy Claymore, and over to Hudson. "To etch it onto your flesh and carry its burden." He turns towards Mabel.

"And when you have endured, when you have truly began to atone, to cut it out like a cancer and display it for all to see." He is cut off by his own maniacal chuckling. It sounds forced, like he is unsure whether he should laugh or cry.

It sounds like it hurts as it rumbles through him like a violent storm.

"My god, that's courage," he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief. He pauses. The silence is stiff and thick, so tangible that Mabel can reach out and touch it. He suddenly turns towards his workbench and grabs a screwdriver.

"I'm going to teach you courage!" He laments enthusiastically. He paces the middle of the room, and Hudson cries and shakes her head, boots desperately knocking against the bloodied cement. "Teach you how to say yes!" He reveals, and Drew's eyes are wide with worry and disbelief.

"So you can confront your weaknesses, confront your sins. You will swim across an ocean of pain and emerge free!" He's roaring at this point, chest heaving as he turns towards Deputy Claymore with a screwdriver. He sounds so certain in his teachings, so gracious, as if he is truly giving something beautiful away, and that terrifies Mabel.

"For only then, will you truly atone," his voice lowers back to its tranquil growl as he stands before Drew. He stares hungrily at the deputy, bloodthirsty for his confession and suffering, before storming back over to the workbench.

"So who wants to go first?" He asks, smirking as he eyes the three. Mabel nods before drew can, and he stares at her in shock. She’d like to spare the deputies of any more suffering. Johns eyes light up and he rushes forward. "Yes! Yes!" He breathes in a starved way, grinning at her as he inches closer.

"You're not gonna regret this, I promise," he assures, and it's the only hint of humanity she can detect in his tone. It seems as if he's trying to convince himself of his own assertions, trying to believe in what Joseph had taught.

"Now before we begin," he starts, smiling eagerly. "I think it's only proper that the Deputies go away," he says, tossing the screwdriver into a corner, and grabbing the backs of Claymore and Hudson's chairs. 

"Confessions are meant to be private," he says overtop of Hudson's tormented howls and cries. Drew looks sympathetic and regretful that he can't take the fall for Mabel.

As he pushes away Hudson, he shushes her through her sobs and screams, as a parent would to a child. "I am not here to take your life." He looks up at Mabel. "I'm here to give it to you." He looks so hopeful, so righteous.

He leans forward, baited breath fanning against Mabels cheek. She grimaces. "I will open you, and pour your worst fears inside," he snarls, dragging her chair even closer to his chest. "And your sins will reveal themselves. Only then, will you truly understand of yes."

Her heart hammers with such desperation that her chest hurts. “Be right back," he says nonchalantly, rolling Hudson and Drew away. Her screams grow louder.

Mabels eyes dart around the room, and she spots a staircase. She rolls herself towards it at a painfully slow pace, frantically looking to see if John is back. Once at the stairs, she takes a deep breath, and prepares for the pain to come.

She lurches herself forward, still strapped to the chair. She tumbles down the steps and her vision fades in and out. The pain is immense, each limb throbbing. But she is unbound from the chair. She rips the duct tape off her lips, mouth stinging from the harsh impact.

"Fuck," she rasps, aching pains worsening as she stumbles back up the steps, gripping the railing for some stability. She’s clumsily searching for a weapon, and finds a bolted pipe, figures it will suffice for the time being. She clambers back down the steps and ducks, crawling through a tunnel. She leaps down into the lower level of the bunker, and her knees throb. She suppresses a grunt as she is tasked with yet another narrow crawl space.

She climbs through, but slowly and silently. She hears the chatter of cultists and sees their boots. There's only two, thankfully, and she takes them out with relative dexterity, snapping ones neck and chucking the bolt pipe at the others head with a scarily great precision she’s learned since arriving here.

She scrambles to retrieve the pipe, and kneels down for cover as she approaches another room. One guard stands there, his back facing her. He hums a benign tune, and she slams the pipe over his head. His skull is broken into pieces with a melodic crack.

Music to her ears.

She gently sets the pipe down once she sees the gun strapped to his side. She takes it in her hand and continues down the hall. She reaches a much wider space and quickly takes cover in another tunnel like structure.

Two cultists stand in her viewpoint. Her body slowly sulks forward and she fishes a coin out of her pocket, throwing it at a wall at the opposite end of the hall. They grunt and whisper in confusion, and leave to investigate the sound. She moves as fast as she possibly can in her crouched position, and reaches a door with a hatch on it.

She musters up the strength and twists open the door, quickly kneeling before she can be seen by whoever may be inside.

It looks to be some type of lounge/training room for cultists. She rolls her eyes at their comfort, imagining Deputy Hudson glued to the same bloodied metal chair for hours.

She spots a man on a couch, and crawls behind the couch. She swiftly drags him over it and down onto the floor, her hand breaking his fall. But that same hand betrays him, delivering a swift break of his neck. She then maneuvers towards a bunk bed, and sees a cultist doing push-ups and another dunking another persons head in some green substance.

She quickly takes out the man working out with a blow to the head from the gun, and breaks the others neck. She believes the person being dunked in the substance is a hostage, until they attack her. She knocks them atop the head with her gun and crouches away.

She finds herself in another wide hallway, and can see one cultist. She ducks behind a water container, and rushes behind him, smashing his head into the steel wall of the hallway. Another cultist she has not expected pops up, and pulls out his gun. But she's faster.

A bullet right between his demented eyes.

Then she runs.

Boot clad feet smack against the floor as she approaches another sealed door. She peers through the window desperately , and meets Johns sadistic gaze. Hudson and Drew and in the room as well, confined to their metal chairs.

He strolls up to the door, a twinkle of fulfillment and higher consciousness glimmering in his deranged baby blues. "I know your sin," he practically gasps through the glass. She takes a cautious step back.

"It drives you. Every thought, every action.." he blinks a few times, continuing to smirk at Mabel. "Your sin is wrath," he reveals, rubbing his chest. "So, I'll... indulge you," he says, and Mabel feels her stomach churn. 

"Become wrath. Let it fill your body and consume your soul, because in the end, you'll still be empty, and I'll be waiting right here.." he looks over at Hudson and Drew, then backs away. "We all will."

He rolls the two away from the door, and hits a button on a remote control. A toxic green gas fills the air, and Mabels knees buckle. She pounds on the window. “Bring then back!” She yells, knowing it’s no use. Her lungs begin to tickle at the green gas filling the air, and she stumbles through the potent substance, mentally promising to come back for Drew and Hudson while coughing and clumsily shooting cultists. She takes cover behind a crate, but nothing feels tangible, everything just out of reach as it floats and moves in and out of her viewpoint. 

Once she's certain she's cleared the room, she scrambles up two flights of steps. She's disoriented and her lungs burn as she inhales the gas. But she is interrupted upon the sight of a bald person and a cultist behind them. He yells something about an Angel, but she's so bewildered that she just shoots them both on sight. She then falls to the ground, and feebly clambers up the bloodied steps.

The sun shines in through a window at the door, and she finds the the strength to stand. She pushes the door open, devastated to find more cultists outside. She's too weak for a gun fight, so she simply runs as fast as her legs will carry her. The gunshots ring in her ears and she feels something hard slide through her shoulder, but it's all fuzzy and garbled.

She's coughing and stumbling and dying, but she eventually reaches a safe distance. Her body collides with a soft patch of grass, and she pulls out her walkie talkie. 

"Jerome?" Her own voice sounds shallow and adrift. The radio crackles a few times, but his low voice comes in. "Mabel?" He asks, worry heavy in his tone. "I n-need help," she croaks, feeling something warm trickling onto her neck. "Where are you?" He asks frantically.

"Johns bunker," she mutters, before dropping the walkie talkie. She rests her head against the warm earth, and decides she's had enough fighting for today.


	7. with blood on my sleeve

Mabel awakens not in her own bed, but in a smaller cluttered room. The mattress she rests atop is much softer than her own, and she can hear noises coming from the lower level.

There's a desk and window beside her. She tries to sit up, but falls back, much too puny and sick to move. There's a dull throbbing in the back of her head and her shoulder is wrapped in white gauze. Her lungs burn and her entire body throbs with scorching pain.

"H-Hello?" She calls out, immediately wincing at how rugged and damaged her own voice sounds. But someone hears, she assumes, as footfalls echo in her ears. The door is pushed open, and she meets Mary Mays worrisome gaze. "Mabel," she breathes, relief and sorrow mixing together in her tone. She immediately sits on the end of the bed. 

"Do you want water? Food?" She asks, and Mabel just nods, voice and mental capacity diminished. Mary May hops up and rushes down stairs. Mabel lies back, head soothed as it collides with the supple white pillow.

The events of Johns bunker become somewhat fuzzy. She only remembers his maniacal ramblings and torment, his capture of Drew, and then lying on the ground.

Obviously, something went awry, or she wouldn't be this incapacitated.

Mary returns with a bowl of soup and a tall glass of water. Mabel immediately reaches for the glass, gulping it down in record time. The ice cold substance is soothing. She gasps and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"H-How long was I out?" She asks. Her voice isn't quite as dreadful, but definitely isn't normal. "Three days," Mary May replies, frowning grimly. Mabels dark eyes widen.

"Fuck," she rasps, shutting her eyes as she ponders the torment that the deputies are enduring. "You were even worse when me and Jerome found you. Please just take it easy," she says, patting Mabels knee.

Mabel doesn't think she has a choice.

"Thank you, Mary," she says, trying to manage a smile, but it doesn't even reach her lips. Mary gives her a pitiful look, then leaves the room. Mabel crosses her arms over her torso, harsh warm tears slipping down her cheekbones. She's been so diminished, reduced to bed rest by the Baptist, and she feels so useless.

Her fingers graze over her bandaged shoulder. All she can recount is the sensation of hot blood dribbling onto her neck and chest as she laid sideways, under the detrimental effects of whatever toxins John poisoned her with.

She rolls over onto her uninjured shoulder, and begins to plot what steps she'll take to kill John Seed once she's recovered.

_______________________________

It's been two weeks since Mabels nearly lethal encounter with John Seed, but she's back on her feet. Jerome and Mary oppose her sudden vitality, and insist that she needs more rest time, but the deputies are always penetrating her mind, grim reminders of what's at stake if she doesn't burn down Johns entire operation.

Visions of their suffering replay over and over, wrists and ankles cut deep by zip ties and their brains scrambled from Johns incessantly lunatic teachings. She imagines the raw agony and desperation, and she realizes there's more havoc to be released upon the cult.

Since her "recovery," she's met a man named Nick Rye and his pregnant wife Kim. She helped them liberate their home and plane hangar, and he's now an ally of the resistance. 

She's also focused time on odd tasks around Holland Valley, nuances in the grand scheme of things that will boost morale within citizens. Despite the bloodshed and self detachment, Mabel has met so many interesting characters, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

She's sitting alone in the woods, cleaning off her rifle at a nearby stream. It's serene to be secluded, closed off from others for a few moments. The only sounds that fill ears are the delightful chirps of birds and the rush of the water. No one to save, no one to kill.

She relishes in the tranquil quietude, until her radio crackles and fizzles. Her eyebrows knit together and she picks up the radio.

"Your soul is poisoned, diseased, riddled with cancer, and it must be cut out." Johns voice is spiking with rage but he maintains his divine facade. "But you refuse my help. You refuse to say yes!" He seethes. Mabel straps her rifle back on, and darts up from the rock she sat atop. "So, until you do...every pain you inflict on this project will be visited a thousand times on your friends.." he sighs, feigning pity, and it makes Mabels jaw clench. A monstrous angry flame is birthed within her stomach.

"And I'm not sure how much more your deputies can endure. Choose your next actions wisely, Mabel." Her heart stops beating for the slightest moment. How does he know her name? A violent shiver runs down her back and she kneels in the lush grass.

She feels even more paranoid, and senses the radiating heat of someone's eyes on her. His eerie calls only heighten her delusional state. But she can't tell what's a figment of her deprived imagination between what is palpable. She's coming undone but she knows the sweet sap of vengeance will soothe her.

She stands up, and holds her rifle close to her chest as she runs back towards Falls End.

______________________________

After a few days, she returns to her normal routine of ambushing cult property and stolen outposts. She knows John is watching but she can't let it phase her. She needs to lure him out of the safety of his gaudy ranch, and into her traps. She wonders how she'll kill him, since he'll probably have the upper hand.

But he will die. She's sure of it.

She's just landed Carmina, Nick Rye's plane. Kim tasked her with taking down several cultists choppers and planes, and she succeeded. Nick waves to her as she exits the hot interior of the aircraft. She's breathless but manages a measly smile. 

"Who taught you to fly like that?" He asks, laughing. "My dad. Taught me how to shoot too," she explains, a bitterness tugging at her heart, but she suppresses it. "Wow. Fuckin' amazing," he mutters, shaking his head in awe as he claps her back. She chuckles and collects her rifle from the patch of grass she discarded it in. "Good work!" Kims stern yet delicate voice calls from a distance. Mabel turns around, and runs towards the very pregnant woman. She gives Kim a gentle hug.

"You're giving Nick a run for his money," she mutters, nudging Mabel in the side. She laughs and shakes her head. "Not really," she argues, shrugging. "You don't have to be humble," Kim says, winking as she trails back towards the hangar. Mabel waves goodbye to them both, before wandering off down the dirt road.

She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and winces at how much sweat has built up on her skin. Her skin hasn't been dry since arriving to Hope County, always soaked in blood, water, or sweat. Never a dull moment.

She strolls into the woods, and has been walking for an hour or so when her radio turns on.

"Atonement is the final step before fully accepting The Word of The Father into your heart. Our sins, having been finally exposed, can now be removed, freeing our souls and opening our hearts."

She stops dead in her tracks, fingers clutching her rugged rifle fiercely. She's grown tired of Johns demented preaching. "Now the pain of of atonement is measured by the severity of the sin... and thanks to your friend Mabel, the sins of this Resistance are indeed.." he pauses, wincing slightly. But she knows it's a cruel illusion of condolence.

"Severe.." he finishes, and her heart rate begins to gain speed. "You will all atone for what Mabel has done. You will all welcome The Word of The Father into your hearts." 

What a crock of shit. She huffs and taps her fingernails against her rifle.

"You will all say yes," he breathes, hungry for the confessions and suffering of anyone willing to oppose him. It seems to be a carnal aspiration of his, something he craves and drinks down. Inflicting fear upon others is his greatest desire and it sickens Mabel. 

He comes back on the radio.

"Your actions have consequences. I've gathered all your friends here in Falls End to atone for sins. You're welcome to join us. After all, if it weren't for you, they wouldn't be in this predicament. This is your last chance to say yes, Mabel. Don't be late."

He then vanishes again, painfully composed voice dissolving into fog.

Her footsteps are fleeting as she sprints back to her hometown.


	8. atonement

Her shoulder aches from the bullet that had been lodged through her tendons only weeks ago, and her entire body burns and trembles, but she drags herself up the front steps of the church. This is it. This is what she's been craving for so long, and she knows she'll be satisfied. 

Her fist bangs again the white doors of the church. She cocks her head slightly as she awaits an answer. Falls End is a ghost town, cars strewn on the street, bodies idle against the hot pavement, and her skin crawls. She assumes the alive are in the church, being tormented by John and his posse.

As she turns back towards the door, the butt of a gun is smashed against her forehead, and everything is dark.

_______________________________

Mabels vision is blurred and fuzzy as she slowly awakens. 

She hears a faint buzzing, and as she regains consciousness, she can feel the unforgiving scorch of a needle moving against her skin, just above her sternum. She yelps and instinctively grasps at anything she can. Her vision clears and her fingers are curled around Johns bicep. He seizes his actions, and pushes Mabel back against the floor. His thumb digs against her wounded shoulder and she gasps, the agony searingly real.

"Hold still. I want it to say wrath, not rat," he hisses, eying her up and down before resuming his excruciating actions. Her head collides with the birch wood floorboards of the sanctuary and her nails dig into his arms.

"Sin must be exposed so it may be absolved. If we hide our sin, we hide ourselves," he snarls, manic breaths strained as he glances between her face and chest. "You will not hide any longer. Your true self will spill out onto this floor for all to see." Tears blur her vision, and she lets them fall, aching to feel anything but that wretched needle dragging and tearing her skin apart. 

With a few more grand swirls, he grins. "Ahhh.. perfect," he hums, before leaping off of her, admiring his own penmanship as if he's gifted her with something beautiful. She finally sits up slightly, and cultists sit in church pews, staring at her in a shameful way. Nick, Jerome, and Mary stand there, the cold metal of guns pressed flush against their heads.

She glances back towards John, her lips pursed as she chokes back a sob.

He raises his arms with grandeur, and lets his electric blue pupils bore into Mabel like a laser beam. They swim in riptides of madness and hunger. Mabel looks away, melting beneath his madness and intensity.

"If Mohammed won't come to the mountain, bring the the mountain to Mohammed," he recites, and Mabel suppresses the tempting urge to roll her eyes. He swiftly turns, grabbing a bible from a cultist. "Let's begin!"

Two rugged men drag Mabel up by her arms. Her shoulder throbs and she hisses as they dump her in front of John and her friends. They do not look scared, but fierce and seething with fury. They seem just as eager to kill John.

Jerome holds a traditional bible, but John snatches it out of his strong hands and replaces it with the Word of Joseph. He scowls at the masochist and clenches his jaw. "Sorry," Mary May whispers, briefly facing Mabel with a look of sorrow, before a cultist turns her around.

"I thought a friendly face might make your atonement easier," John announces, large hand gripping Jeromes shoulder tightly. He maneuvers Jerome towards Nick and begins spewing nonsense for Jerome to repeat.

"Our devoted.." he says, staring at Jerome expectantly. But the Pastors face is grim and unmoving. The cultist shoves him with the end of a handgun. "We are gathered here to bear witness.." Jerome is stoically unnerved.

That's until the cultist mashes the butt of the pistol against his head.

He collides with the dusty wooden floor, and Mary May thrashes around in a cultists grasp. "You son of a bitch!" She snarls, momentarily escaping the cultists arms only to be hit in the head by the same cultist that took down Jerome. She yelps and stumbles back.

But a trivial nuance is carried out and Mabel takes notice. Jerome switches out the Word of Joseph with his traditional bible. Her heart throbs against her ribcage as she imagines what will happen if the detail is noticed.

John lets out a nonchalant laugh and raises his hands. "Let's try that again," he says, and Jerome is dragged back into his former position. "Our devoted, we are gathered here today to bear witness.." he repeats, nails digging into Jeromes soft flesh.

"Our devoted, we are gathered here to bear witness," Jerome growls through gritted teeth. John looks pleased, and Mabel wants to carve that smug smirk off his mouth. 

"To those willing to atone for their sins," he continues. Jerome again repeats him. "Will you Nick Rye place y—" John is swiftly interrupted. "Oh fuck that. Nah, I ain't ever giving into that psychopath," nick snarls. John interjects himself between the two as cultists further restrain Nick. "And there it is, Greed. Always thinking of yourself," he assesses, only to be spat on by Nick. He thrashes in the cultist restraints.

John looked slightly stunned yet dignified as he wipes the salvia from his face. He hums lowly and nods, before roughly grabbing Nicks shoulders and whispering something unintelligible into his ear. But it somehow reigns the man in. A pure look of terror reaches his eyes, and Mabels never seen a persons soft spoken words have such an impact.

Nick struggles, but chokes out the words that John feasts on. "Yes. Yes, I will atone."

John holds a hand out, and a cultist places a knife in his inked palm. John hovers overtop of Nick as men drag him to the ground. "No!" He pleads as the knife digs into his chest with a gruesomely wet sound. Mary May screams in protest and flails around in a cultists arms. Mabel mirrors her actions, tears freely streaming down her cheeks and onto her bloodied boots.

John shoots upwards like a supernova and holds up a carved out piece of Nicks very own flesh. It has the word greed engraved in it, similar to the damage on her own chest.

Will that same thing happen to her?

She can't even control herself as she lurches over, vomiting over a pew. The cultists look repulsed and John simply looks maniacal. "That is the power of yes!" He roars, and Mabel straightens herself, choking on air as she becomes hysterical at the grizzly sight.

He lowers his arms and displays the flesh for Mabel to see better. She knows that he's taking pleasure in her exhibition of sheer distress, and he's hungry for more of it.

"The power to take away your sins!" He preaches, stapling the flesh to a wall beside him. "The power.." he's gasping for air, as if he's coming down from a euphoric high. He bows down alongside Nick, who's rolling around in raw agony. "To set you free," he breathes, clapping his hand against Nicks arm.

He stumbles up and washes his hands off with some water. His back is turned towards Mabel and she looks at Jerome, who is aggressively tapping his fingers against the Bible. 

She's initially perplexed, eyebrows furrowing together, until she remembers that he stores his revolver in a carved out slot within the divine book. John turns around and stalks towards Jerome, once again placing his hand upon the mans shoulder. He visibly tenses up.

"Will you, Mabel Daulton, place your hand upon The Word of Joseph?" John says, and Jerome repeats, hands shaking with fury as he extends the Bible towards Mabel. "And announce your sins and transgressions?" John continues, smirking complacently.

Jerome follows with baited breath.

Mabel glances at John, then the cultists, preparing herself for the battle that will ensue.

Jerome leans forward. "Say yes," he growls lowly. "It's just one word," John retorts casually, and she whispers a shallow "yes."

They've deceived John successfully, and the prosperous grin smeared across his face almost makes Mabel giggle. He believes he's turned the Resistance members into his sheep, mindlessly obeying their leader.

She's about to prove him wrong. 

She places her hand atop the book, but abruptly opens it and retrieves the gun. Yelling and screaming ensues but sounds and visions around her are muffled, eyes focused in on John. But a cultist grabs the gun, and she only manages to graze his ear.

He ducks and runs out of the church, alongside two of his cultists. "Get John to his ranch! Move!" One yells as they make their escape, and Mary May throws herself at the burly man who held her still. She scrambled for a larger machine gun that's been discarded, and follows Jerome, Nick, and Mary May out of the church.

They run and gun. Mabel takes cover behind a potted plant as she quickly shoots down cultists. Mary May is in the street, her aim absolutely perfect, and Mabel is stunned.

"Get in the turret!" She yells towards Mabel. She nods in response, and makes a few more shots, before sprinting towards the van. She climbs into the turret and takes hold of the machine gun as Mary May starts the car.

They drive out of Falls End and onto the main road. A cult truck immediately pulls out in front of them. Mabel shoots the driver and the truck verves off into the forest. She spins around and gets a headshot in on a woman driving an ATV, and shoots a man operating in a turret on a cult vehicle. She turns around and scans the road for any more enemies.

"Mabel! Behind you!" Mary barks. Three fighter planes soar above them. "Fuck," Mabel grumbles. Mary tries to swerve and drive faster, but the planes are unnerved. "I can't shake them!" She yells, and Mabel begins to roughly shoot at the pilots. She shoots one and the plane crashes into a cult truck, erupting into an angry untamed fire.

She manages to shoot down another plane, but they roll into John Seeds ranch before she can take down the last one. "Find a plane!" Mary May orders as she hops out of the van, shooting at another plethora of grungy cultists.

Mabel ducks around the van and sprints towards a silver fighter plane. She narrowly misses the rain of bullets, and hops into the pilot seat. Her stomach churns as she accelerates forward and into the clear blue skies. "Partner, it's Nick. I'm not lettin' that motherfucker get away with this. I can fly if you need me to," he offers, and Mabel desperately responds. "Yes, please," she groans, catching up to Johns jet black plane.

"Nick Rye... have you already forgotten what I told you?" John teases cruelly over the radio call. "Fuck you! You're a god damn demon and we're gonna send you back to hell! You hear me? You're a dead man!" Nick yells, and Mabel sees his yellow Carmina approaching.

John simply laughs innocently. "My my my.. how contagious wrath can be!" He laughs, and Mabel fires up the barrel, shooting at his aircraft. The Affirmation is a strong plane despite her rain of bullets, and it barely retains a hint of damage from the attack.

"I'll just how to kill you both," John laments, and Mabel is the one to laugh now.

His death is imminent. She can feel it in her bones.

Nick flys in, shooting precisely at The Affirmation. Mabel sees that there are rockets engaged in the plane, but Johns too fast to get an even shot at. She again fires up the barrel and lodges more bullets at the raven exterior of the aircraft. "The father gave you a chance for salvation and threw it away! Look at what you've done. Look at the wrath you have wrought!" The younger Seed fumes, voice cracking and showing his true lunacy.

She doesn't indulge him with a verbal response but fires more bullets upon his plane alongside Nick. "You could of helped us build a paradise, a future, instead you chose to burn it all down!" He cries, shooting back at her plane. She swerves the best she can but bullets hit the silver exterior. She winces and flys lower as Nick shoots relentlessly at John.

She fires from below and the plane begins to smoke. He whizzes around her and clumsily scrapes the wing of his plane against her own, and the aircraft shakes and becomes slower. But she takes a deep breath and does her best to maintain control, despite the way her entire body trembles with rage and worry.

Her and Nick both dart towards The Affirmation and wound it's shiny paint with another spitfire of bullets. The plane is cloaked in fire and smoke, and she thinks they've killed John Seed, until he jumps out of the plane, a parachute strapped to his back.

"Fuck!" She screams, raw unadulterated fury coursing through her, thicker than blood and simmering within her every vein. Some primal instinct controls her as she retrieves a parachute from the wall and straps it onto her own back. She does not hesitate to jump out of the plane, wind rippling through her torn clothes. She pulls the parachute and the brute impact hurts her neck, but none of that matters as she aims to land where John is.

Her feet collide with the jagged rocks of the forest, and she immediately lurches up to see John sprinting through the forest, luxurious trench coat dragging through the mud. She pulls out her machine gun and uses the scope to get a good aim on John. She fires without mercy, bullets penetrating through trees and birds. She aims for his legs, and succeeds.

He collapses to the ground with a loud thud. She discards the parachute and bolts through the greenery. She feels more invigorated than she ever has before as she catches up to his puny being, and kneels down before him.

He lies on his back, hissing as pain seers through his leg. Her fingers wrap around the key on his necklace, but his large hand grabs her wrist. His eyes are the ocean of pain he preaches about, full and bountiful. They'd be much more dazzling if the plunging arcs of insanity within them would disappear.

"What if Joseph is right? Did you ever stop to think about that?" He rasps, fingernails digging into her supple skin. "He's not," she grunts plainly, and he laughs. "Everyone thinks he's crazy, but he's not," he says, practically pleads, and a devoted twinkle gleams in his eye. 

And she realizes he's drinking the kool-aid, just like Joseph's flock. "What made you like this?" She whispers. She knows it won't change her outlook on killing him, but curiosity gets the best of her. He doesn't answer her, but looks slightly pained. It's the only humanity she can detect from the unhinged Baptist.

"Look around you. The world is on the brink," he says, chuckling and frantically motioning around him. His hand moves from her wrist to her shoulder. "You can feel it in your bones. Look at the headlines. Look who's in charge!" He roars, laughing and sputtering. His maniacal cackling and shouting further weakens him, but he knows his fate by now.

He glances down at her fingers, which remain latched around the key. He gazes back up at her face and grins. "You want this key because you think you're saving people, but they are already safe," he fumes, chest rising and falling with unsound passion. "We had a plan..." he chokes out, practically begging her to believe him, and his desperation is satisfying.

"You don't understand. You don't believe. You don't care!" He bellows, releasing her arm. She rips the key away from his throat and stumbles backwards into the mud. He continues to leer in her direction. She sits there for a moment, catching her breath as she reloads her gun.

She peers at John for a moment, and she feels a final hint of sympathy for the deranged man. She can't excuse his actions, but can slightly understand why he devolved into such a deplorable creature. Her dark earthy pupils dance over him, and his gaze is also unwavering. "How'd you find out my name?" She asks, voice hushed and quivering.

He smirks. "I have eyes everywhere, Mabel."

Her very own label rolling off his tongue makes her skin crawl. She narrows her eyes and stands up, groaning quietly. She presses the gun against his temple. Night falls and the pine trees sway delicately in the wind.

His eyes are open. He's feigning bravery, acceptance of his final destination, but she manages to see right through his mask. He's the same petrified boy that laid against the kitchen floor while us parents beat him, the same little boy who was hoisted into the foster care system. The same scared man who is under the spell of his own brother.

"May God have Mercy on your soul," he mutters, and she snorts.

"No, I think you're gonna need it."

The gunshot sounds loudly and echoes in the darkness. He almost looks normal as blood leaks from his head and into the green mossy floor of the earth. His eyes are wide open. They reach into the depths of her very soul and ravage her essence, stealing everything.

She feels nothing.


	9. into dust

She tramples on foot, and can see the large bunker in the distance. Cultists swarm the area, and she curses under her breath. "Are you close?" Mary May asks through the radio. "Almost there," Mabel whispers.

She's strapped with explosives, a sniper rifle, and a machine gun, but she doesn't feel accomplished, instead disappointed and numb. The gratification she thirsts for upon killing John doesn't arrive, but she chooses to repress her sorrow and carries on through the woods.

She's at a close enough distance to snipe the surrounding cultists. She finds a tree stump and pulls out her sniper rifle, eye pressed against the scope. She lines up her sights and nails a grimy woman in the head.

She ducks down, back blades pressed against the damp wood. She turns slightly and continues to shoot lunatic followers of Joseph in the head. The outside area is quickly cleared.

She drags herself down a steep hill and towards the bunker. Her feet hop and slide around dead bodies as she reaches the heavy door of the massive bunker. She fishes the key out of her pocket. It's soaked in Johns blood, and reminds her of disillusionment.

She jams it into the keycard and the sealed door opens with a wretched noise. She winces slightly and goes inside, switching out her rifle for a machine gun. Her boots clomp against the familiar metal steps of the bunker. Hazy memories of her clambering up the steps and out of the poisonous gas cloud her mind.

She shudders violently and continues down the steps. Her legs instinctively crouch low behind the railing of the steps as she reaches a large room with six or seven cultists. Her hand snakes into her ammo bag and she retrieves a proximity explosive. She chucks it into the pit with reckless abandon, then scrambles up the flight of steps. Frantic yelling than a divine explosion of cultist blood.

She smirks slightly and hops down the steps.

Corpses lie hauntingly still and smoke clouds dance in the air. Nimble fingers tighten their grip around the heavy machine gun. She's in the same wider, steel hallways from last time, crouching behind boxes and water crates while wordlessly snapping necks. She's become so graceful, so fleet of foot, and performs a ballet of ultraviolence. Never in her life did she imagine this unruly primal side of her being roused. She didn't even know it existed.

A gasp leaves her mouth as a cultist catches her off guard. Before he can yell for backup, she slams the butt of her gun into his skull with a delicious crack. Her heart thumps erratically. She stops for a moment, and places her hand over her chest, catching her breath from the previous encounter.

And then she immediately picks herself back up, and reaches a sealed door. She twists the heavy steel wheel and it opens slowly. There's no noise in the room, just the distant screams of hostages in other cells. But the air is tense in here, and dripping with doom as Mabel observes a cultist, a woman with a shaved head, and a dagger wielded through her chest.

She's dead, but her hands remain clutched around a framed picture of the cult, as if she believed they would save her in her desperate last breaths. Mabel frowns, and kneels, taking a closer look at the picture. 

Her eyes wander to the woman. Dark blonde hair, lush green eyes. Mabels brain stutters, unable to comprehend what lies before her. The realization is a painful collision and it knocks the wind out of her. She stumbles backwards, glassy eyes glued to the photo.

And maybe she shouldn't be surprised. Rachel was always easily misled.

The scream of a woman fills her ears and awakens her from her trance. Hudson is running towards her with a knife. She gasps and immediately clutches the woman's arm, restraining her from plunging the sharp metal into Mabels supple skin. "Hudson, it's me!" She yells, but the other woman's icy grey eyes are swimming in terror and speckles of madness.

She thrashes against Mabel for a few more moments, before freezing up, eyes searching over the woman desperately, like she doesn't believe she's really seeing her. "Mabel, it's you.. oh god," she whispers, falling back onto the bloodied metal floor. "I'm here to get you out," she says reassuringly, and Hudson hangs her head. "I didn't think you'd come back," she admits, shaking her head. "Of course I would," Mabel says, rubbing the other woman's shoulder soothingly. "Something... something started happening.." she gasps, tears running down her olive skin and onto the floor.

"All the.. all the fucking Peggies started scrambling around. All the doors were closing, locking us inside... I thought I was gonna be down here forever.." she admits, chest heaving as strangled sobs leave her throat. 

The vision horrifies Mabel further.

"I wouldn't let that happen," she whispers, shaking her head. The two sit in silence for a moment. Mabel begins to think about Rachel, before Hudson lifts herself up, groaning slightly. She offers her hand out to Mabel, and she has no choice but to evict Rachel's memory from her head as she grabs Hudson's hand.

"Thanks," she mutters. Hudson stalks over to the dead cultist, eyes narrowing in on the framed picture of the family. She points the knife at the image, trembling as she paces the room. "All... all because of him! Him... that fucking... fucking.." she gasps for air as fury leaks through every pore in her body. "Piece of shit!" She screams, grabbing the picture and smashing it against the floor. The glass shatters into minuscule shards. Hudson then collapses overtop of the portrait, and begins to cry quietly. 

"He would come down here, and he would just stand there and watch," she says. Her voice quivers violently. Mabel crouches down beside her, placing a gloved hand atop her back. She looks so hopeless as she gazes at the picture, visions of what had happened flickering and persistent in her mind. She tries to push them away but they're a lingering shadow, always.

"We were begging for mercy, and he would just.. fucking.. watch.." she seems like she's beginning to sob harder, but then a chortle rumbles through her body, and she twitches violently. She's caught between laughing and crying, and she sounds pained, like she's suffocating. It reminds Mabel of Johns maniacal laughter, but Hudson's voice is less willful, and more defeated. 

Her laughter seizes, and she pushes the picture to the side. She kneels there for a moment, staring blankly at the ground as she takes deep breaths. They sound strained and wispy.

She eventually collects herself enough to speak.

"The others...ok...There were other people down here with me," she gasps, dragging her self up onto her feet. She's struggling, and Mabel grabs her hands, and helps her fully stand still. Hudson's sobbing has seized and she stares fiercely at Mabel. "We're gonna get them out. Drew's in one of the cells, and he's gonna help us. Then we're gonna burn this whole fucking place down. Help me, or stay out of my way," she warns, turning and picking up a discarded cultist shotgun.

"No, we're gonna do this together," Mabel agrees, nodding. "Good. We gotta get to the control room. It's the only way we can unlock the cells and free Drew and the others," she explains, rushing through a narrow hallway and up the steps. Mabel follows closely behind her. They then turn into a small room with several computers and monitors, displaying footage from security cameras.

Hudson hovers over a computer and begins typing. The doors open after a few moments. "Ok, go open the cells," she orders, and Mabel scrambles out of the room, and finds herself in another wide, dreary hallway.

She's met by cultists, and she begins shooting. They seemingly appear out of nowhere from varying angles. She ducks behind a box and shoots down a few more, but there's too many for her too simply shoot. She reaches into her ammo bag and chucks another proximity explosive at them. It explodes and bodies of cultists slam into the steel walls.

She scurries through the smoke and once it clears, she sees the door of a cell, and a lever beside it. She gasps and hurriedly pulls it. Dozens of prisoners run down the hallway in a panic. She turns down another hall, and she can hear the chaotic screams of cultists as they realize the hostages have been liberated.

She easily takes out cultists and swiftly maneuvers into a more narrow area crowded with boxes. She pulls the lever to the other prisoner cell, and they rush out. Her dark brown eyes connect with Drew's grey ones. He looks thinner, scratched and bruised,

Defeated.

"Drew," she breathes, immediately hugging him tightly. His hands grip her black shirt desperately, as if he needs to feel her to know she's really there, tangible and not just a forlorn creation of his imagination.

"I can't believe you're here," he mutters as they pull away. "I'm just happy you're ok. I got Hudson out earlier. She's in the control room," Mabel explains, and Drew's eyes brighten. "She's out? Thank you, Mabel."

"You can thank me once we're out of here," she says, picking up a loose rifle from the ground and handing it to him. He reloads the gun.

"Are you serious. Shit, one of the sections is tied to another control room. I can't free the locks from here," Hudson grumbles over the radio, sighing dreadfully. "Mabel, find the other control room." She orders.

Mabel begins moving, until Hudson suddenly comes back on. "Wait wait wait! The control room's locked," she exclaims. Mabel sighs, and runs towards a missile launch silo. Her stomach churns as she imagines falling into its murky waters. 

She steps out onto a platform, Drew behind her. "Ok, keep an eye out. I just lowered a platform from the silo. Should get you through to the control room. You should see a bunch of consoles. Destroy the- Shit, peggies!" She suddenly yells. Mabels heart is pounding erratically, but she musters up the strength to jump down onto the platform. She groans at the dull pain in her knees. Drew mirrors her.

The two immediately begin shooting at incoming cultists. Blood splatters against the walls and floors and Mabel is delighted. They step over the dead bodies and enter the control room. "Destroy the consoles. It's the only way to free the last batch of prisoners," Hudson says. They begin shooting at the tall consoles, and occasionally at cultists who enter the room. All 20 consoles are quickly destroyed, and Drew and Mabel are on the move.

"It worked! The rooms are open, so get back to the silo. I think I've got something figured out," Hudson says, a glimmer of hope in her tone. Mabel and Drew run down several wide hallways and step out onto the silo platform.

Smoke starts to blow out of tunnels and pipes and little fires are scattered throughout the bunker. It's coming to an end.

Drew jumps up, hands grasping an upper platform. He pulls himself up and offers his hand out to Mabel. She begins to sweat, uneasy at the thought of falling. "You coming?" Drew calls, and Mabel looks up at him.

"Scared of heights," she yells back, legs trembling slightly as she inches closer to the edge of the platform. "Don't worry, I'll pull you up, now come on!" He shouts desperately as the entire bunker shakes. She winces and leaps forward, one hand on the platform and one gripping Drew's hand. He helps pull her up.

"Start making your way up. These things haven't been used in years, so if one of them jams, shoot the hinges," Hudson advises over the radio as one platform lowers above them.

Drew goes first, and Mabel follows behind him. She begins to feel less nervous as they continue climbing. Drew shoots a jammed platform and it opens. It's a long jump. But he runs and outstretches his arms, hands grasping the bars of the platform as he pulls himself up.

Mabel hesitantly follows suit.

She groans slightly as her body collides with the harsh metal. Drew drags her up. "We've got to get out of here," he mutters. They jump onto another platform, and the others above them slowly lower. "Damn, it's safeguarded against global lock release. I'm doing one section at a time," Hudson says, and Mabel groans, forcing her eyes to not wander downwards.

Once the platforms above lower, Drew and Mabel continue to climb, until they've reached a platform leading into a small hallway. Cultists ambush them, but Drew and Mabel shoot them briskly (narrowly avoiding a couple bullets to the head) “Shoot the bliss containers," Hudson orders. The two run into a small room with several bliss containers, and shoot at them until they explode. Mabels vision blurs and her hearing becomes fuzzy as they blow up these "bliss" holders.

The move into another small room and shoot more, until there's nothing left. They then run up a pair of steps. "Get the fuck out of there! Whole place is gonna blow! I'm gonna grab the prisoners and head out. Godspeed, you guys, see you on the outside," Hudson says, before signing off. Mabels stomach turns.

"Mabel, backups on the way. Chopper in bound. We'll meet you at the top. Open the hatch. There should be launch panels around you," Pastor Jerome calls over radio as the two enter a large room with dozens of cultists shooting. They immediately duck behind a metal shelf. Mabel reaches into her ammo bag and throws a grenade into the pit of followers, while Drew shoots. Once it explodes, Mabel turns to Drew. "I'm gonna open the hatch. Cover me," she says, crawling out into the clouds of smoke before Drew can stop her.

She dodges gunfire narrowly as she clambers towards the nearest latch, pulling it down. There's one more inside of the platform, so she glances around. It seems probable enough that she won't be shot in the head as cultists focus their attention on Drew, so she circles around and scrambles into the circular silo, pulling the final hatch. But as she begins to rush back to where Drew stands, a bullet nestles itself in the thick cartilage of her bicep.

She hisses in pain, eyes widening. The heavy wind ripples through her clothes as the hatch opens and the night sky shows itself. She drags herself to the large metal shelf Drew sits behind. He gasps, eyes immediately zeroing in on her freshly wounded arm.

"Mabel, we've gotta get you out of here," he mutters, drowning out the shouts and gunshots of cultists. She drearily nods. 

"Helicopters right above you. C'mon, hook yourself onto the skids," Jerome reports into the radio. Drew helps her up, and they rush out onto the platform. Drew retrieves the grappling hook from Mabels bag and scrambles to land it onto the skids, while Mabel shoots at cultists above, but her aim grows less precise as her vision fades in and out, blood seeping into the fabric of her shirt.

Drew grabs her securely and she wraps her arm around his shoulders for support as they work together to pull themselves up onto the helicopter. The searing, brutal pain in her arm shocks her as her fingers quickly grasp against the rope. She groans with each pull, until she is safely in the helicopter with Drew.

She falls onto the seat, shutting her eyes as her head collides with the soft leather. She can feel the world around her fading into darkness, and Drew desperately shakes her.

But she's so tired, and she decides that darkness is what she needs.


	10. you’re someone else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lack of updates y’all :( i just started my junior year and it’s just a lot right now. but i will get into a better updating routine soon. this ones kinda short but i hope you guys like it

John penetrates the boundaries of her mind. She thought she had enforced a division between herself and guilt, but she thrashes in her sleep, whines and kicks and claws at the sheets. His corpse, maggots and wolves and other creatures of the forest fighting over what's left of him. His eyes have been pecked out by birds but she can still place them, can still envision the electric blue and swooping arcs of madness. It's cold and the Earth is dead.

The nightmare doesn't go any farther as she lurches forward.

She's gasping for air, nearly falling off the cramped twin bed as she tries to collect herself. But the vision leaves a horribly sour taste on the back of her tongue, burns like fresh acid against her consciousness. She looks up, chest continuing to rise and fall. It's dark, but she can make out the cramped, dusty room with the sliver of moonlight that creeps in through the window.

The upstairs room of the Spread Eagle, where she resided not too long ago after her first gunshot wound. Fuck, the gunshot wound, she could've forgot if her nerves hadn't seared beneath the rapid movements of her limbs. She winces, tensing up as she looks down at her arm. Fresh gauze wrapped around her bicep, a bullet nestled in the resistance of her muscle. "Shit," she hisses, sinking back into the bundle of pillows beneath her.

"Mabel?" She hears from outside the closed door. A gentle voice that belongs to Drew. "I'm ok," she calls out, and she's surprised at the way her voice comes out in a damaged way, crackly and ugly. The door opens, and Drew peeks his head in the doorway. His bruises and cuts look healed, but there's something defunct in his eyes, like a part of himself was carved out with Johns very own hands.

"Drew," she breathes, nearly standing, until that familiarly hot pain shoots through her arm. "Take it easy," Drew warns, his eyebrows furrowing together. He's at her side immediately, reassuringly rubbing her shoulder as she tries to ease back into the mattress. "Are you ok? I heard noises." Visions of her own nightmare briefly flash behind her eyelids, but she's quick to squash them down.

"I'm fine," she answers vaguely, leaning her head back against her pillow. She's shifting, trying to get comfortable. She can't, though, knows she won't ever be comfortable, and she lies still. Drew drums his fingertips on the bedside table, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wants to say something. 

She watches him silently and he eventually says what he's been thinking. "Are you ok, Mabel?" It's a stupid question, and she's not surprised. He's never been the best at these conversations. But neither is she. "I'm fine." It's a regurgitated phrase, dull and lifeless and meaning absolutely nothing to him.

"You aren't," he mutters timidly, eying her with a pitiful look. She hates that look, and huffs, looking away from Drew and out of the window beside her bed. "I just need to get back on my feet, ok? I'll kill the other Heralds and I'll be fine." She hears him scoff like she isn't right. "I'm tired of hearing that."

She snorts in a dry way, void of humor. "Hearing what?" She argues, still not looking at him. They don't fight, ever. There's no time to, but maybe it's the stillness in the atmosphere or the beatings they've both taken that makes them fierce this time around. "Hearing that you need to kill the others. It won't do anything," he counters in a quiet sneer. She almost laughs. "Won't do anything? Seriously?"

He sighs in an exasperated way and she hears him shifting in the wooden chair beside her bed. Or maybe it's not wooden. She can't remember. "It won't fix you, Mabel." She wants to dismiss his words like they don't matter, but they strike a nerve, unacknowledged and buried beneath other matters, matters of killing and maiming and surviving.

She doesn't show her hurt. She can't.

"And what the hell needs fixing?" He's silent for a moment, and his fingertips resume their action of drumming the nightstand. But the rhythm is angrier, faster, harder. "You and I both know how you're thinking right now. You think that killing them will make it easier for you, but it w-" "what the fuck are you even going on about right now, Drew!?" She yells in an unexpected way that makes him wince. Her voice is strained and it hurts. 

She hears him make a sound, something drawn between a grunt and a sigh. "This won't erase anything that's happened to you." Mabel feels her limbs grow rigid, a cavernous pit opening in her stomach. He can see her. He sees her guilt, her trauma, her inner most pain and her desires. And she doesn’t know how he finds these things when she’s locked them away somewhere dark and cold.

He knows he’s unhinged something, and he takes a deep breath. “I should go.” “You should,” Mabel murmurs, her arms crossed in a tense way, eyes forced to remain glued to the window. She hears him stand, the chair and the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. Then his footfalls, now growing distant. And a door shuts. It’s an echoing sound, resonating and thundering deeply with her.

She feels like crying, but something won’t let her, something nestled deep in her soul that isn’t natural, placed there by John and his taunting. He’s dead but it feels the exact opposite, like he’s more present than he’s ever been, her mind an echo chamber of his whispers. Fuck, she wishes she could cry.


	11. perfect places

She looks in the mirror for the first time in a long time.

Who is this person? She's no longer pretty in a domestic sense, but cut and bruised and carved into with words. Wrath, throbbing and dark red beneath her collarbones. Something is translucent about her skin, like the rosiness and the life has been sucked dry from her being. She feels as if she could reach out, and transcend the boundaries of the mirror. Let her fingers dip through the glass and grope around in the darkness. And maybe she'll find an old part of herself, something long forgotten, but needed.

Her hair is wet and a towel is wrapped tightly around her body. She hurts everywhere and something hollow lies where her heart should be. Johns corpse flickers behind her eyelids, always floating around somewhere in a dark corner of her mind. He looked human, no longer manic and invincible atop his hill of lies, but reduced to something oddly placid and almost childlike.

And the ravenous cycle of guilt repeats itself, mourning John in some odd way, then feeling ashamed of her remorse, and wanting to mend her thoughts by aiding the resistance. She's finds herself trapped, but a firm knock on the door saves her.

She tightens her grip on the towel, and shuffles over to the door of the small bedroom. Her fingers wrap around the door knob and she opens the door, her dark eyes meeting Hudson's grey ones. "Hey, just wanted to check in on you," she says, smiling the best she can. Her cuts and bruises have healed, her hair braided into its usual neat braid. Mabel would believe she's okay if not for the hollowness of her eyes, the way her fingers twitch in a way that reeks of paranoia. John reached into her, stole her human parts and replaced them with desperate pieces.

"Hi," Mabel mutters, moving aside and allowing the dark haired woman in. Her boots creak against the decrepit floorboards. Mabel gently shuts the door behind them, then shuffles over to the twin bed she's slept on for the past few weeks. The metal frame creaks beneath her body as she sits down. Hudson sits down alongside her, glancing at her briefly.

"How do you um... feel?" She asks quietly. It's a funny question. Mabel doesn't know what to tell her. She shrugs. "I don't know. How about you?" Hudson snorts. "Like shit." Mabel likes her honesty and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. 

They sit in silence after that. Mabel doesn't know the woman very well, but she's heard tales of her bravery, her humility, and her hidden warmth from Drew. Hudson is someone she wants to be around in this chaotic, evil place. Their shoulders are bumping, eyes focused on the creaky old floorboards of the room. Mabel cocks her neck slightly, stealing a glance at Hudson. She’s almost too pretty too be a deputy, hair shiny and black, her skin a moderate olive tone and her eyes swooping arcs of grey. Something odd stirs in Mabel’s chest, something warm and tingly and unwelcome.

She tilts her head back down before Hudson can notice her looking. She’s suddenly very aware of the puny towel wrapped around her bare form, and the faintest blush sweeps over her face. Hudson turns her head, and places a hand on Mabel’s shoulder. Her palm is unexpectedly soft and warm. “Thank you,” she says, nodding her head. Mabel assumes she’s speaking of Johns bunker, and just shrugs.

“I’m just happy you and Drew are out of there.”

Hudson smiles barely, and nods again. She rises to her feet, the bed frame wailing. Mabel catches herself ogling at the way Hudson’s jeans fit around her bottom and thighs, and she silently curses herself, flushing those thoughts away and trying to ignore the heat prickling over her skin. Hudson turns to face the woman sitting on the bed still.

“I’ll see you soon. Rest, ok?” Mabel nods. “You should do the same.” Hudson just laughs, and heads for the door. Bruised, nimble fingers wrap around the door handle. Warm air wafts in the room as she opens the door, then pulls it shut once she’s exited the room. Mabel remains glued to the bed, thoughts of Hudson lingering. “Fuck,” she whispers, displeased with her own distraction.

There can’t be distractions. Johns death is only one notch in her belt. She’s got three more to go. Nothing will stop her, not Hudson, or the woman in the portrait she once knew.


	12. everything means nothing to me

"Isn't this nice?" Mary May asks, turning towards Mabel, who sits motionless in her chair alongside the lake. A morning dew shimmers over the water and the sun reflects divinely, but Mabel can't enjoy the scenery as she imagines how she is going to get back on her feet and kill the Seed family.

But she nods to please Mary, and continues to stare blankly at the surface of the lake.

"I know this is tough, to be still for so long. It took me forever to just stop for a little while, but it's what you gotta do, Mabel, or else you'll burn out," she advises. Mabel knows she and anyone else telling her to stop is correct, but her mind has been in overdrive ever since she stepped foot in Hope County, and she simply will not let herself be still.

"I'll try," is all she says, and Mary nods contently. "Good."

The two sit in silence for a few minutes, basking in the morning sun, before Mary May interrupts the quietude. "What did you do before you got here?" She asks curiously, crossing her legs. Mabel smiles slightly, but feels suddenly alarmed. It takes her a moment to remember who she used to be, what she used to do before rolling into Hope County, who her friends were, what she liked.

It all turns grey and fades into dust.

"I was a copy editor. Lived in New York," she answers briefly, warm nostalgia of the city fizzling into sadness as she longs for her friends Harry and Anke, and realizes she may never make it back to the city she loves.

"Fancy," Mary teases, poking the other woman's arm playfully, and Mabel rolls her eyes. "It was kind of boring, but I always liked it," she says, shrugging her shoulders. Mary May nods in understanding. "I get it."

They return to a tranquil silence, but the peace is seized by Mabels own savage thoughts. Gunning and hiding and plotting, past times that have completely immersed her mind. She can hardly imagine anything else. 

She has forgotten the tenderness of adolescence, the summer breeze of New York, the warm company of friends, all in an effort to create room for these new, violent propositions.

_______________________________

Mabel sits at the bar, fingers tracing the rim of her glass of scotch. Drew and Hudson sit alongside her, chatting and laughing while she sulks. That's all she seems to do these days, cry and mope around as she feels she's losing her grip. The woman's Sylphlike form glides and floats around Falls End mindlessly, fingers dancing amongst the worn wood and steel of small shops and homes. She is ashamed to say that she is bored and depressed.

Mary and Jerome do their best to assure her that this leave of absence is much needed, but she cannot believe them. She can't believe anyone. She can only believe that she will defeat the Seed family at all costs,

Even that of losing Rachel forever.

But she's already gone, perhaps? A ghost of the sweet, naive girl from the era of adolescence? Mabel's convinced herself of this.

"Are you feeling ok?" Hudson asks, causing Mabel to look up at her. She places her hand on Mabels shoulder reassuringly. Mabel doesn't force a smile or even try to feign the state of neutrality. "I feel so useless," she admits sullenly, taking a long sip of her drink.

Hudson scoffs. "Useless? You saved Holland Valley, Mabel. You saved Drew and I. You are so so important," she says, squeezing the other woman's shoulder. Mabel cannot bring herself to believe Hudson, and she sighs.

"It doesn't matter. I should be moving on now, trying to take down the others," she argues, head hanging shamefully. "Just relax," Drew chimes in, as if it's that easy for her.

She decides to simply nod, despite her unruliness, swallows the remaining scotch in her glass, and orders another.

_______________________________________

Months of stillness. 

No fighting, no killing, no running,

Just stillness.

Mabel is losing her mind.

She's trying to relax, truly, but she knows that the folks of the Whitetail Mountains and the Henbane River are suffering, and that sickens her. Her drive to kill the rest of the family is so strong she can no longer ignore it.

She needs to hunt, to kill, to end their reign of terror.

But Jerome and Mary May aren't so sure.

"Doesn't my shoulder look better?" Mabel pesters, tugging down her sleeve and practically forcing Jerome to see her healed bullet wound. He sighs, and stares at her sadly, that reverent fatherly stare that she hates. "Well?" She exclaims, plopping down on the same crate she had sat on when they first met.

Jerome glances at her suspiciously, sharp eyes narrowing. "Mabel..." he warns, earning a petulant scoff from her. "You can't keep me here any longer, not you or Mary May or anyone else," she argues vehemently, folding her arms over her chest. 

Jerome glances at her, a mix of anger, worry, disappointment, and defeat crossing his face. "I suspect you'll leave even if we don't want you to?" He asks, and Mabel chuckles lowly, shaking her head. "I need help from all of you to take them down," she says, peeking up at him expectantly. He sighs.

"Do you promise to keep yourself in order?" He asks. Mabel immediately nods like a child being lectured. He glares at her a few more moments, before softening. With tenderness, he takes her hand and bows his head, uttering a gentle prayer, wishing Mabel God's grace.

She isn't religious but bows her head in respect of Jerome.

His whispering finally seizes with a low "amen," and he looks up at Mabel. "Please take care of yourself," he pleads. "I will, I promise," she swears, grasping his hand. An inkling of doubt and guilt trickles into her, because she knows that promise will be impossible to keep.

_______________________________

"Alright, you cross that bridge and you'll be in the Henbane," Mary May says, pointing towards the bridge and a red sign that says "Henbane River" in tiny white letters.

Mabel adjusts her heavy backpack and nods. "I wish I had more advice for you, but I don't know much anything about Faith Seed," she says, frowning. "It's ok. I'll figure it all out soon enough," Mabel assures, an odd combination of fear and rage bubbling in her stomach. Hudson and Drew stand alongside her. Hudson is accompanying her in the fight against Faith, while Drew plans on venturing into the Whitetails to eliminate Jacob. 

Mary May steps forward and pulls all three into a hug, her sudden affection surprising them. "You guys saved us. Thank you," she mutters. Mabel smiles slightly. "We couldn't have done it without the rest of the Resistance," Drew says, shaking his head. Mary releases them.

"Now go take out the rest of those fuckers, alright? And call me if you need an extra gun," she says, winking towards the three as she slides back into her car. They all wave towards her as she drives off, and then regroup.

"You have your radio, right?" Mabel asks Drew, and he nods. "I'll see you two after I kill that asswipe Jacob Seed," he says, rolling his eyes. Hudson laughs loudly and hugs Drew. Mabel does the same. He gives them a sweet smile, before turning and scurrying off into the woods, and towards the Whitetail mountains.

Mabel sighs and turns back to Hudson.

"Let's get going," she says, smiling slightly. Hudson nods, and the women begin walking.

_______________________________

Hudson and Mabel grip their guns fiercely as they inch towards an outpost. Folksy cultist hymns play over speakers and Hudson quietly grumbles. And as they get closer, they can hear a voice over the speakers. Feminine and soft, like a spring breeze, ebbing and flowing on.

Mabel realizes its Rachel's voice, and she shivers violently as they enter the outpost through a chain fence. Mabel immediately has to take out a gruff cultist with a quiet neck snap. Hudson takes out the next, and they continue this cycle until they reach the first alarm tower. Hudson's nimble fingers quickly disable it, while Mabel keeps watch.

The second tower is fairly close. They crawl around a worn shack, out of cultists view points. Mabel turns once they move away from the shed, and meets the panicked gaze of a cultist. He opens his mouth the scream, but Mabel is fast to slam her gun over his head.

He crumbles to the ground. 

Hudson crouches and scurries over to the second and last tower. She disables the alarm, and Mabel joins her. "Can we just shoot them now?" Hudson asks shortly. Mabel shrugs.

"Sounds fine to me."

They open fire upon two cultists talking. Blood splatters against the dirt floor and walls. Yelling ensues and several other cultists scramble to eliminate Hudson and Mabel, but the women are stronger, faster, and they are quick to put a bullet between their crazed eyes.

Mabel is sure to duck behind a crate. She can't afford a third gunshot wound, another leave of absence. After a few more rounds, the cultists are eliminated, and the outpost is liberated.

She lets out a breath, and stands up, stretching her legs from the extended period of crouching. Hudson mirrors her actions. "That was pretty decent for our first outpost," Mabel remarked breathlessly. Hudson chuckles and nods. "We should probably find a place in the woods to sleep," she says. Mabel nods in agreement, but knows she will not sleep,

Not after hearing Rachel's voice.


End file.
